


Full Disclosure

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Movie Night, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Matchmaker, Domestic Avengers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Generic Bad Guy Fight, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, No Arc Reactor, Oral Sex, Past Drug Use, Prompt Fill, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Tapes, Sexual Tension, Tony Has Issues, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore.</p><p>In which Bucky and Tony forget that sex and love are not a game. A game is something you can win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Disclosure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [genbenkenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/genbenkenobi/gifts).



> Um, this prompt promptly took over my life, and became a monster. I'm still sorting through the end results of my feverish typing, so there might be some errors / craziness as that happens. I apologize.

“Look, I like Cap as much as the next guy, but you’ve got to admit this is a total waste of time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, not that it mattered; Stark couldn’t see him anyway, not with his chin tucked down against his chest, his attention entirely focused on his phone. He watched the almost hypnotic, hyperactive movement of thumbs across the surface of the device up until the count of ten, then gave Stark’s shin a swift kick under the table.

“Some people’d consider that rude,” Bucky explained, smiling innocently as Stark finally made eye contact. “We’ve been here for ten minutes and that’s the first you’ve come up for air.”

Across the table from him, a very put upon looking Tony Stark made a big production of putting his phone away before folding his arms across his chest, slouching down in his seat, and sighing dramatically.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m kind of a busy guy.”

“Don’t worry, Big Shot, message received, loud and clear.” 

Bucky shook his head and scanned the restaurant for the umpteenth time since sitting down. He’d yet to make anyone in the crowded place, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, watching, ready to report back. That’d be just like the stubborn bastard.

He sucked the last of his water loudly through a straw as he returned his attention to his companion. “So sorry Steve has you slummin’ it.”

To his surprise, Stark actually looked upset by this remark, and not the theatrical sort of upset that was usually the case. It was subtle, just a shift in the eyes really, but when you had the sort of training and experience Bucky had, reading microexpressions was second nature.

“Hey, no,” Tony said, shifting forward a bit, body language far less closed off than it had been just seconds ago, “I didn’t mean it like that, just, I am _actually_ busy, like, in the middle of a full overhaul of the armor, and there are about eight urgent, unresolved issues Pepper is riding my ass about, and...”

“So leave, then,” Bucky suggested, and if anything, the subtle wounded look in Tony’s eyes became a lot less subtle. 

It only lasted a moment though, some process seemingly finishing somewhere in that big ol’ noggin of Stark’s, resulting in him patching up his emotional bleed through with quick efficiency. Bucky had to admit he was impressed. He was also willing to bet the only reason he’d spotted the upset in the first place was simply because Stark was exhausted.

Really, to be fair, he probably _was_ the busiest guy in New York, if not the entire East Coast, and here he was, dark circles under his eyes, sitting in a restaurant that would have seemed like high class to Bucky, if he wasn’t painfully aware of the fact that the guy seated opposite him probably had enough walking around money on him to buy the place outright.

“No point, really, Steve’ll know if I duck out early, and just reschedule.” Tony snatched up the menu and began scanning it. “Besides, I’m never _not_ busy, so… whatever.” He peered over the top of the menu, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You do realize we’re the only two being subjected to mandatory getting to know each other team building bullshit, right?”

“Maybe we’re just the first?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed further. “Right. Doubt it. If anyone needs to be at the top of a team building bullshit list, it’s Barton.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with that. Besides, he’d had his own doubts, right from the moment Natasha and Steve approached him all innocent like, letting him know they’d booked a table for two, and he’d better be there on time, looking decent.

“Guarantee they have someone watching us,” Bucky said, earning himself a smile. “Haven’t spotted anyone inside the perimeter yet, so I’m thinking they’ve set up in one of the buildings opposite.”

“Hey, assholes, if you’re listening in, we’re onto you,” Tony said, chin tilted up as if Clint might be somewhere above them right that very moment. 

Actually, that was entirely possible, and Bucky found himself scanning the room again, this time with a focus on the ceiling, although he was unable to spot any vents or particularly useful hiding spots.

“So, I get why they’re worried about me,” Tony continued after a moment, his face the picture of nonchalance, “I’m not exactly likeable. What has me curious is _you_ , because I always got the idea from Steve that pretty much _everyone_ liked you—likes you?—whatever tense applies to you back from the dead super soldier types.”

Bucky was a little surprised to find himself grinning. Something about the theatrical, rambling nature of Tony’s conversation was far more endearing than it had any right to be. “Maybe he’s worried HYDRA scrubbed away my charm.”

Tony studied him for a moment, the look in his dark eyes a strange blend of playful and intense, before he smiled in a way that did absolutely wonderful things with his features. Bucky found himself forgetting what it was they’d been talking about, entirely distracted by the begrudging acknowledgement that Steve’s other best friend was actually kind of attractive when he wasn’t being a total brat.

“Sorry, you said ‘scrubbed’ and my mind wandered,” Tony announced, making it painfully obvious he was checking Bucky out.

For his part, Bucky leaned back in his seat, slapping his own suggestive smile firmly in place, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the arrival of their waitress. After placing an order and being brought another round of drinks, Tony immediately returned to their earlier conversation.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he continued, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. “A training exercise would be one thing, but this? If it was anyone other than Steve, I’d say he’s worried we’re going to fight over him.”

“Please. We’re professionals,” Bucky added, and Stark raised his glass, prompting Bucky to clink his own against it. They exchanged a look, each took a sip, and then studied each other again. “No respect,” Bucky said with a little shake of his head, and across from him Tony erupted in laughter.

“Sorry, just, there was this comedian,” he waved his hands as if to push aside that avenue of conversation. “Nevermind, not important. What’s important is that I’m officially offended. If I can get along with Clint, I can get along with anyone.”

“Hell, you set me up at the Tower without even meeting me,” Bucky pointed out, leaning forward, elbows coming to rest on the table. “That’s a stand up kinda gesture, if you ask me.”

“Thank you,” Tony said, looking genuinely, pleasantly surprised as he leaned forward himself. “And sorry you’re stuck with me tonight, by the way, because I guarantee you, somehow, this is _my_ fault. It’s probably because of the whole busy thing I mentioned,” he continued, rubbing his left eye with the palm of his hand. “Steve probably assumed I was avoiding you.”

Unable to help himself, Bucky blurted, “Gee, wonder why?”

It was a fair assumption, really, considering he’d been living in the Tower for almost four months, and the most Tony had said to him outside of an Avengers-type situation was, “welcome to the monkey house,” on the day he’d arrived. Outside of the Iron Man armor, he’d only ever seen the guy between comings and goings, and hadn’t gotten so much as a grunt thrown his direction.

The little wounded look was back, just for a moment, but seeing it slip through the cracks of Tony's composure was enough to make Bucky feel like a jerk. 

“Don’t try to hog all the blame for yourself,” he said, “I’ve always had a mouth on me, and these days I’ve got a two-thousand-yard stare that makes Steve mighty uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, sorry.”

Bucky bit back a sigh, his irritation rising. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he said, and Tony’s eyes focused on him again in response to the tone in his voice. “They’re the ones making unjust assumptions about the two of us.”

“Good point,” Tony agreed, the words sounding disconnected from whatever direction his thoughts had taken. 

Bucky could almost hear the gears whirring away in Stark’s brain, and found himself smiling in response. He had a feeling they’d both arrived at the same conclusion. “How do we want to get back at them?”

Tony looked around as if they might be overheard, then leaned in even closer. “Well, they obviously think we’re incapable of getting along.”

“Which means they’re expecting this to be a bust,” Bucky continued, gesturing between the two of them before tipping his head a little, wry smile playing at his lips. “So how ‘bout we get along much, much better than they’d ever planned for?”

“Devious, I like it,” Tony agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I should probably mention that I actually do swing both ways, in case that makes you, uh, uncomfortable."

"Huh, guess we have something in common after all," Bucky said, wondering if Stark's confession was meant to scandalize his old world sensibilities. If so, he'd fallen far short of the mark; Tony was the only shocked person at the table. 

"Is that a fact?"

Bucky shrugged, smirked, and took another sip of his drink. "I swear, your generation thinks they invented sex, or something."

Tony's shock had worn off, his expression once again one of devious playfulness. "Does Steve know?"

"I didn't exactly advertise, but yeah, he knows, and doesn't much care. He know about you?"

"I don't think so, but Natasha _definitely_ does.” Bucky stared at him, suddenly curious, and with a smile full of self-deprecation, Tony added, "Nat was in charge of looking into me before I became an Avenger, and, uh, there might be video evidence she uncovered during the process."

Bucky chuckled, because of course. He spared a moment's thought for what might have been captured on video before forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. 

"If this is gonna work, we'll need to play the long con. Think you're up to it?"

Tony rolled his eyes and settled back in his seat as their food arrived. "Please, I've got it easy." He paused to thank their waitress and ordered them each another drink before adding, "You're the one who's going to have to convince them that I'm worthwhile boyfriend material."

Bucky was sort of confused by the remark; just the day before he'd been flipping through one of Clint's awful gossip magazines and had come across an article naming Stark one of America's most eligible bachelors.

Sure, he could grate on the nerves with the whole ‘too busy to acknowledge your existence’ thing, but he was still a good looking guy with a decent sense of humor, disgustingly wealthy, and almost confusingly popular since ditching the gun game and coming out as Iron Man. In fact, there were probably people who’d chew their way out of a bear trap for a crack at the guy. 

"I think I can manage," Bucky assured him, tucking into his meal. "Whaddya think, get them hook, line, and sinker, then have a nasty blow out once they’ve come to terms?"

"Perfect," Tony agreed, raising his glass in salute. "Then we each threaten to leave the team if the other one is staying."

Bucky spared a moment to feel bad for Steve, then let it go with a smile. It would be a valuable life lesson in what happened when you schemed. "The classic ultimatum. That'll do the trick nicely."

"We'll need to see how ridiculous we can get before we finally have the big reveal," Tony pointed out. “I don’t like doing things by halves.”

"Of course," Bucky agreed. "I think between the two of us, we can make their lives hell. Here's to us, then."

"To us," Tony answered with a wink and a smile, and just like that, Bucky found himself in a relationship with Tony Stark.

Later on, he'd think back to that night, remember what he'd said next, and want to travel back in time to smack himself upside the head for being so naive. 

"This'll be a piece of cake."

x x x

After much deliberation, they decided the best course of action was to play it subtle at first, let the others think they'd been trying to keep it a secret. Considering who they lived with, they were far more likely to believe something if they thought they’d uncovered it themselves than if they were told outright.

With that in mind, they voted to go their separate ways after entering the Tower, Bucky now in possession of Tony's private number so they could more easily conspire.

Before Bucky could head off, though, Tony grabbed him by the arm, saying, "J, give Bucky the all access pass, okay?" He waggled his eyebrows before adding, "That includes my suite."

"Of course, sir," and it was strange how the disembodied voice of the AI managed to sound equal parts shocked and approving.

"Nice touch."

Tony grinned, and gave a shrug. "It's the little things. Which reminds me," he gave a subtle nod in the direction of a nearby camera. 

"Gotcha," Bucky stepped closer, and forced himself not to look at the camera. "Let the games begin."

The kiss was awkward, mostly because they were trying, and failing, not to laugh, while each tried to take control of the situation and failed at that as well. The end result was clumsy, and hardly worthy of being called a goodnight kiss.

"Right, _so_ not convincing," Tony said under his breath before grabbing Bucky by the back of the neck and pulling his face down for a do-over. 

This time, as their mouths slotted together, Bucky let himself relax into the moment, noting that Tony's beard was a lot softer than he'd expected, while enjoying the determined way the shorter man kissed up into his mouth.

In fact, he might have let himself get a little too lost in the feeling of Tony’s lips against his own, and all the little spots where their bodies pressed together, the warmth of him, and whatever expensive cologne he was wearing, because when Tony stepped back, Bucky only just caught himself before swaying forward in an attempt to continue.

"That ought to do the trick," Tony said, his voice pitched low and meant for Bucky's ears only. "Let me know how it goes when they corner you."

Bucky licked his lips and winked, steadfastly ignoring his accelerated heartbeat, and the definite interest his dick was showing in the whole exchange. "You got it, ducks."

He was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the pink tinge to Tony's cheeks before he beat a hasty retreat, and felt a little better about his own situation. 

Bucky didn't have long to wait before putting their plan into action. Steve and Natasha were not so casually hanging around the communal floor, as if they'd been waiting for him to come home. They didn't even bother to hide their curiosity when he sauntered in.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Steve asked, and Bucky almost lost it. Steve was all wide eyed and looking around, as if expecting to see Tony walk into the room any minute, and seemed somewhat confused when it didn't happen.

"Fine," Bucky answered allowing just enough of a pause beforehand that Steve and Natasha exchanged looks.

"He showed up, right?"

Bucky kept his expression neutral as he answered Natasha. "Yup. And before you ask, he stayed through dinner."

"Good, that's good," Steve said, and Bucky pretended not to notice as he gestured to Natasha. "So..."

"Right, I'm off to bed," Bucky interrupted, giving them a little wave with his metal hand as he headed over to the elevators.

"Wait, uh, you're sure everything went okay? No... fights or anything?"

With his back turned to them, Bucky allowed himself to smile before turning, and answering the question.

"Like I said, it was fine," he injected a forced casualness into his tone—something certain to come off as suspicious—before adding, "we might even do it again sometime."

Sure enough, this got their attention, so before they could ask anything else, he headed into the waiting elevator with a parting shot of, "goodnight."

As soon as he was alone, he sent a text off to Tony. 

 _Phase one complete_. 

Before he was back in his room, the phone vibrated with Tony's reply. 

 _Good work, hot lips. I'll report back with any fresh intel_. _Sweet dreams._

x x x

Bucky's eyes snapped open, body and mind on full alert as he realized he wasn't alone in his bedroom. Without thinking, he snatched the emptied glass he used for water from the bedside table and hurled it with precision, rewarded with a satisfying thunk noise and a shout of pain when the glass hit its target.

Ignoring the groaning of his assailant for the moment, Bucky hopped out of the bed and had a pistol in hand almost immediately. 

"Sergeant Barnes, stand down!" and Bucky had a moment's confusion over why JARVIS was issuing orders before realizing the groaning person on his floor was none other than Tony Stark. 

"Okay, okay, that was my fault," Tony moaned, hands over his face. There were two paper cups emptying their steaming contents onto the floor beside him. "Don't visit assassins unannounced."

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Bucky clicked the safety back on his pistol before tossing it onto the bed.

"Shit," was all he managed as he knelt over Tony. "Move your hands, lemme see how bad it is."

Tony did as ordered, and Bucky winced. His nose was bleeding, and his right eye was already showing signs of bruising. 

"I'm sorry," he stammered, stomach clenched in a tight knot.

Tony smiled sheepishly. "That's on me," he insisted, allowing Bucky to pull him to his feet. "Hey, good morning, I brought you coffee," he added, gesturing to the steaming puddles. 

Bucky exhaled loudly, running a hand over his face, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He easily could have shot Tony before even realizing what was going on, and the thought left him shaken and disgusted with himself.

No wonder Steve was sending him out on team building exercises. When you got down to it, he was still more a product of HYDRA than he was an Avenger.

Suddenly, there was a warm, comforting hand on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes to find Stark watching him, guilt and no small part of self loathing clearly visible in his eyes. 

"Seriously, I'm sorry, that wasn’t your fault. I probably should have warned you that I'm a fuck up at the best of times, so, really, I deserved that."

Without thinking, Bucky touched the side of Tony's face, a tiny, comforting gesture that suddenly felt ridiculously intimate upon remembering he was clad only in his boxer briefs. 

As if reading his thoughts, Tony's eyes wandered, eyes widening appreciatively before he cleared his throat and took a step back. "I'll just," he pointed to his face and laughed, "ice, or something. This is very nice, by the way," he added, making a strange little finger wagging motion that somehow encompassed Bucky's state of undress. "Don't feel like you have to cover up for my sake."

And just like that, Bucky was laughing and shooing Tony out of his bedroom, guilt sliding away to be replaced with something closer to affectionate exasperation. 

"Thanks, JARVIS," he said, heading for his adjoining bathroom. 

"Not at all," JARVIS answered, and Bucky swore he sounded annoyed. "I had warned sir that it might be best to allow me to announce his arrival."

Bucky smiled at this, even as another shudder ran through him at the thought of the loaded pistol currently resting on the bed, and the direction their morning could have taken. He doubted Steve would appreciate his friends killing each other, accidentally or otherwise.

After emptying his bladder and brushing his teeth, he snagged a towel and wiped up the spilled coffee as best he could before pulling on a pair of pants, and a t-shirt. 

Tony was sprawled on the couch, his head tipped back against the cushions, a bag of frozen peas Bucky hadn't known he owned balanced on his face. 

Now that he was a bit more with it, Bucky noticed Tony was still wearing most of the suit he'd had on the night before. The tie and jacket were gone, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned, the angle showing off the long, compelling column of his throat. There had been an acceptable level of stubble around his typically well groomed facial hair the night before, but now he was quickly approaching scruffy, and for some reason, it left Bucky wanting to drag his fingers along the underside of Tony’s jaw.

"Have you slept at all?"

"Hm? No. Sleep is overrated," Tony murmured, sounding like he'd been nodding off before Bucky had asked the question. "Nothing to report, by the way. I thought Steve'd pop in for sure, but it never happened."

"He'll wait to talk to me without Natasha around," Bucky said, plopping down on the couch beside Tony. "You should probably get some rest."

"Wow, not even 24 hours as my fake boyfriend and you already sound like every one of my exes ever," Tony muttered. "Even if I wanted to, I can't. Got a board meeting in... J?"

"One hour and forty-eight minutes, sir."

Tony made a confusing hand gesture that Bucky took to mean, “see, there you have it,” and grimaced, probably at the prospect of having to go to a meeting.

"Well, you might want a shower and shave first," Bucky suggested, "cause you look like shit."

Tony laughed, a resigned, almost sad sounding little chuckle, which wasn't exactly the reaction Bucky was expecting. "Yeah, okay, I can take a hint," he said, plucking up the frozen peas and dropping them in Bucky's lap. "I'll catch you later."

He was smiling, but looked more like a kicked puppy than anything. 

"I’m just saying, I've got a reputation to maintain here," Bucky didn’t want Tony to leave, especially not looking like someone just rolled him for his milk money. "Can't have my boyfriend looking like a slob."

This time, Tony's smile was a bit more genuine. "Hey, it's slob-chic, thank you very much. All the rage in Europe."

"Let me make you breakfast," he offered. "Least I can do after giving you a black eye."

"Will there be coffee?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Yes, dear, there will be coffee."

Which was how Bucky found himself not only making breakfast for his fake boyfriend the morning after their first fake date, but sending him off to his meeting with a, "if you hurry you'll still have time to shower," just as Steve Rogers showed up at his front door.

"Hi," Tony said, sharing a faux-panicked look with Bucky. Their timing couldn't have been better if they'd planned it. "We were just, ah..." Tony trailed off, and Bucky gave him a little shove towards the elevators. 

"Tony was just leaving," Bucky said, trying not to laugh at Steve's expression. He was certain to draw some interesting conclusions from the encounter. "Come on in."

"Did he have a black eye?" 

Steve glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch Tony in the middle of being a smart ass, blowing a kiss Bucky's direction. To his amusement, as the doors closed, Stark tried to play it off as a yawn, failing miserably. It was beautiful, really. He couldn't have asked for a better accomplice. 

"What brings you over so early?" Bucky asked, heading back inside and fussing over the dirty breakfast dishes as if embarrassed to be caught in the act of something. 

"What?" Steve blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Oh, um, nothing in particular. Thought maybe you'd want to go for a run?"

Bucky managed to keep his smile in check, barely. "Actually, I'm a little tired. Maybe another time?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve nodded awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. "Are... I mean, did you..." Bucky only stared in response, and the silence stretched out between them, until Steve shook his head again. “Nevermind. Right, I’m just, ah, run. Going for that run. See you later?”

“Sure thing,” Bucky agreed, giving a little wave as Steve headed out.

He snatched up his phone, and typed out another message. _Talk about good timing!_

Several minutes passed with no response, so Bucky went back to his dishes, wondering if Tony had managed to fall asleep in the elevator. 

When his phone finally chirped with a reply, he found not only words waiting for him, but a photo of Tony mugging for the camera. He’d obviously showered, neatened up his beard, and the jackass had gone and found a shirt and tie combination that actually brought out the colors of the bruise blossoming around his eye. 

_Sorry, darling, was busy making myself presentable. Pass / Fail?_

Bucky found himself grinning stupidly at his phone while answering. _Definitely pass. Also, I think we broke Steve._

_Fate is on our side. Victory certain. Skipping to Phase 3 recommended. Heading into battle. Give me super villains over board mtgs anyday. Avenge me if I don’t survive!_

x x x

Much to his disappointment, Bucky didn’t actually see Tony in person again until almost three days later, and according to Tony it was all Pepper’s fault for making him be responsible. Bucky was beginning to understand why Tony was still single; the man’s schedule was an absolute nightmare.

And so he had to endure two whole days of his fellow Avengers sniffing around, all without the benefit of his co-conspirator being in a position to help, before being summoned by Tony’s ex-girlfriend.

“What the hell is all this?”

Pepper pursed her lips in his direction, glanced at her watch for the fifth time, and waved away someone approaching her with a stack of documents. “Give me five minutes,” she said before refocusing on Bucky. “It’s the standard package. Just sign here, initial in the spots I’ve indicated, fill out the last two pages, and we’re good.”

Bucky flipped through the pages again, his frown growing as he did so. “You make the people Tony dates fill out paperwork?” His tone of voice made it clear he suspected Pepper was out of her mind.

“Someone has to watch out for him,” she answered with a smile that was by no means affectionate.

Bucky held out for a moment or two before caving, eyes skimming over the contract he was signing. “You could give Natasha a run for her money, lady. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That actually earned him a laugh, and he found that Pepper Potts was much prettier when she didn’t look like she was about to put a high heel through your eye. “As long as you don’t hurt Tony, we’ll be fine.”

Bucky frowned again, distracted by what he was reading. He glanced up at Pepper, brow furrowed, and asked, “Did someone actually sell their text message exchanges with Tony to the tabloids?”

Pepper’s expression was gloomy, and more than a little sad. “These things happen when you’re in the public eye.” 

With a shake of his head, Bucky signed and signed, then filled out all his pertinent details, contact information, emergency contact information, mood darkening by the moment. Before he could ask why Pepper needed his blood type, and some of the other information he was being asked to provide, she added, “Things have only gotten worse since Iron Man. We have to assume anyone Tony gets involved with will become a target at some point, and prepare accordingly." Pepper sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. "At least with you I'm able to skip the background check.”

“Relationships were a hell of a lot easier in my day,” Bucky muttered. “Any chance signing one of these means I’ll actually get to see him?”

“Careful what you wish for,” Pepper said with a smile, gathering up the pages. 

A commotion from behind prompted him to turn just in time to see Tony make his entrance, looking far too pleased with himself, sunglasses in place and wearing a suit that would have been comical if he didn't actually look damned good in it. 

"There you are," Tony called, as if Bucky had been the one MIA the last few days. "Pep, you all done here?"

"He's all yours," Pepper answered, and it took a moment for Bucky to realize she was actually talking to him. "Try to get him to eat something," she added softly before rushing away from the whirlwind that was Tony. 

Bucky found himself with an arm around his waist, being propelled towards the elevators, Tony tipping his head in order to peer over his sunglasses. "It's worse than we thought," he faux-whispered, waving to someone as he shoved Bucky into the elevator. "While I was away, I found out they've enlisted Rhodey as a spy."

"So we think they're buying it?"

Tony pulled out his phone, thumbs a blur as he fiddled with it, before hooking an arm around Bucky's shoulder in order to pull him in close. 

"Try to look like you're happy to see me," Tony suggested, his serious expression shifting into something carefree and playful as he held his phone up to snap a photo. 

Bucky only had a moment to react, but managed to shift enough so that when the photo was taken, his lips were pressed against the curve of Tony's jaw. 

"Well played, Barnes."

Reluctantly, Bucky allowed Tony to regain some personal space, licking his lips without thinking, the warm, somewhat spicy scent of Tony's cologne still in his nostrils.

"And sent," Tony announced, shoving the phone back in his pocket. "Now we wait for that to make the rounds. There's a copy coming your way, too. Make it your wallpaper or something. So, anything new to report here?"

Bucky huffed, and snatched the sunglasses off of Tony's face, his smile faltering now that he could see how bad his eye looked. The new and interesting colors of the bruise at least explained all the yellow and green Tony was wearing. 

" _Shit_."

"Forget it," Tony insisted, looking embarrassed, as if he’d done something wrong by getting bruised. "I've had way worse, even before becoming a superhero. Besides, it's sort of fun watching people try not to stare at it during contract negotiations."

With a resigned sigh, Bucky allowed Tony to put the sunglasses back on, and didn't try to apologize again.

"No one asked outright," Bucky said instead, "but there's been a lot of mentioning you when I'm around and trying to gauge my reaction."

"Good! Pepper's paperwork will go a long way to helping the cause," Tony explained, rubbing his hands together. “We should probably go out again, though. I’ve got this charity thing tonight, but I can probably skip out after a couple hours.”

“What kind of charity thing?” Bucky asked, even as Tony’s expression shifted over to his ‘I have a brilliant idea’ face.

“Perfect, yes, we’ll do the charity thing,” Tony announced. “The sort full of boring gossip, and awful small talk, but there’ll be an opportunity for dancing, and getting seen together. Do you have a tux? I’ll get you a tux. JARVIS?”

“Of course, sir, I’m sending Sergeant Barnes’s measurements over now.”

Bucky groaned, his shoulders slumping a little. “A hoity toity charity thing?” he asked, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Getting grilled by a bunch of glitterati isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, Stark.”

Tony’s mouth twitched to one side, and Bucky wished he’d held onto the sunglasses, because he had a feeling there was a lot going on in the guy’s eyes right about now. “Right, no problem,” he said, his voice sounding just as cheery as it had before. “J, abort on the tux. If it looks like I can escape, I’ll let you know.”

The elevator slid to a stop, and Bucky realized they had arrived at the workshop. Tony was shedding his suit jacket even as the doors opened, and something in the gesture felt dismissive. 

As if just remembering Bucky was there, he paused after stepping out of the elevator, hooking a thumb towards the various half assembled wonders behind him. “I’m just gonna take care of a few things before I have to mingle,” he said, and it was clear Bucky was getting the brush off.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll talk to you later?”

He heard a shout of “Yeah, sure,” just as the doors slid shut. Not sure what to do, he stood there, feeling uncomfortably like he should apologize, until his thoughts were interrupted by JARVIS.

“I’m afraid sir has initiated Do Not Disturb Mode,” JARVIS said, sounding somewhat apologetic. “Shall I return you to your floor, Sargeant?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky said with a sigh. He’d definitely hurt Tony’s feelings by giving him the brush off. Something occurred to him. “He hates these charity things, doesn’t he?”

“You’ll find sir is made exceedingly uncomfortable when offered recognition for his charity work.”

“So why does he go at all?”

There was a pause, as if JARVIS was deciding how much he was comfortable revealing, before he answered. “This particular event is also intended to raise funds, specifically for the Maria Stark Foundation.”

Bucky’s spirits sunk a little further, because of course it’d be a charity thing for the foundation named after Tony’s mother. Tony had been worried for Bucky, but so far, between the two of them, _he_ was turning out to be the shitty boyfriend.

With a sigh, he asked, “Is it too late to un-cancel the tux order?”

x x x

The odd thing was, Bucky was actually having a good time. Tony had been in good spirits ever since coming down to the car to find Bucky waiting there for him, dressed to the nines. He thought he cleaned up nice, but had to admit that Tony wore a tux like he’d been born to, which, on second thought, he _had_. 

Between the two of them, they were schmoozing the older lady crowd like nobody’s business. Tony might have used him as a human shield once or twice, and left him to fend for himself with a woman who wouldn’t stop pinching his cheek and asking why he wouldn’t take his glove off, but mostly it had been a strange sort of fun.

It took a good bit of maneuvering, but after a while he even managed to get Tony to himself out on the dance floor, where there had been some confusion over which of them was leading, until the billionaire finally capitulated, and let Bucky have his way.

“I should put you on payroll,” Tony threatened, smiling and nodding in someone’s direction before refocusing his attention on Bucky. “You’re a professional charmer.”

“Me? You’re the one making old women blush,” Bucky countered, taking advantage of the situation a bit by bringing his mouth close to Tony’s ear. “Not a bad dancer, either.”

“I’m a great dancer, thank you very much,” Tony answered with a laugh, and Bucky liked that he could feel it ripple through his own body. “We need to get you in uniform for one of these things,” he added, “we’d make a killing.”

“Like a man in uniform, do you?”

Tony pulled back a bit, just enough for them to see each other better, and Bucky was once again glad he’d gotten the stick out of his ass and decided to come along. He found he liked seeing Tony all bright eyed, and happy.

Before Tony could answer the question, a flash went off nearby, and they found themselves blinking in confusion. “And there we have the gossip rags," Tony said with a sigh. "Well, at least this'll work to our advantage."

"That has to get old," Bucky made a point to glare at the punk before they scuttled away. "I could go cause a scene if you want? Crush the camera with my hand."

Tony grinned wolfishly, and shook his head. "Actually, let's use this as an excuse to escape," he suggested. 

Bucky tightened his grip, pulled Tony in even closer. "Hey, pal, I'm trying to dance with my fake boyfriend here."

Not one to be outdone, Tony batted his eyelashes, and snuggled closer. "We should go get burgers," he suggested, but didn't make a move to pull apart again when the song ended, and another began. 

"I _do_ like a uniform, by the way," he said several minutes later. "I, ah, actually have one of yours, though it's on loan at the moment."

"Yeah, I saw," Bucky said, biting back the unsettled feeling in his stomach. "Back when I was still figuring things out."

To his surprise, Tony nuzzled against the sensitive spot just below his ear, exhaling in a warm puff of air against his skin. "No getting morose on the dance floor, soldier."

"Yes, sir," Bucky said with a laugh, reluctantly allowing Tony to end their dance. 

Tony took him by the hand when he led him out of the place, and Bucky found himself wishing he hadn't bothered with the glove. It would have been nice, feeling Tony’s fingers entwined with his own.

The burgers were cheap, greasy, and absolutely amazing, and they ate them in the park, splitting an order of fries and slurping down milkshakes. Bucky was surprised no one approached them, spent the first five minutes or so strategizing in case he needed to get physical with anyone, but it was oddly peaceful, and private.

Happy waited nearby, eating his own food, opting to watch his stories in the car rather than join them, which Bucky was secretly glad of. Pretend or not, he was enjoying their second date, and didn't really want a third wheel changing up the dynamic. 

"Hey, um, thanks again for changing your mind," Tony said around a mouthful of burger. He actually looked mildly uncomfortable as he added, "I have a hard time not getting drunk and making a fool of myself when I go to those things solo."

"Believe it or not, I had fun," Bucky said, knocking his shoulder against Tony's. "Although I think Mrs. Selfridge might have given me a new dimple with all that squeezing, and not on one of the cheeks you can see right now, either."

"She got to squeeze your ass before I did? So not fair. I’m offended."

“Play your cards right and you’ll have your chance,” Bucky advised, taking a long slurp of his milkshake, licking his lips suggestively when he was through. If he wasn’t entirely mistaken, Tony had been pleasantly caught off guard by the response.

“You’re okay, you know that?” Tony said after careful consideration, wagging a greasy fry in Bucky’s direction. "I'm starting to wonder why everyone thought we'd have trouble getting along."

Oddly enough, Bucky had been thinking the same thing. He shrugged, and finished the last bite of his burger.

"Well, whatever. They'll feel stupid enough when Clint eventually finds the photos." Bucky arched an eyebrow, and Tony added, "He has a Google Alert set up for me," as if that made any sense.

"I'll take your word on that."

"Hey boss," Happy called, "hate to break it up, but you wanted me to tell you when it was Thursday, and it's officially Thursday."

"Shit, I gotta wrap this up," Tony said, "Bruce and I have something cooking in the lab."

Bucky shrugged off his disappointment, a little surprised to find it welling up so strongly. "Yeah, no problem."

Tony hopped up, tossing his trash in a nearby bin, while Bucky followed him back to the car, wondering if they'd need to fake another goodnight kiss, just in case one of their friends was keeping eyes on them.

And when Tony made to head off without one, and Bucky pulled him back with a nod to the camera, and said, "wouldn't want to look suspicious," it wasn't like he was doing anything wrong.

This time, he took the lead, one hand on Tony's hip, the metal fingers of his other curled around the nape of Tony's neck. Stupid, really, the way it made his heart hammer; it was just a fake kiss, after all, and didn't even involve tongue.

Still, Tony was smiling just as much as he was when they pulled apart and said goodnight.

x x x

“Pretty sure I just got the shovel talk,” Bucky announced as he entered the workshop, shouting a bit in order to be heard over the music.

In response, JARVIS considerately lowered the volume, and Bucky tried not to laugh at the way Tony pouted in response. It wasn’t too difficult, because Tony was distracting him with the tank top and beat up mechanics pants, looked like he’d been at it for a while, hair sticking up in spots, what looked to be welding goggles hanging around his neck, arms streaked with some sort of grease. 

For reasons Bucky couldn’t explain, it reminded him in a good way of the men he’d known (some of them intimately) during the war. Of long hours spent with Steve and the Howling Commandos, each of them grimier than the next, and not particularly worried about it, just happy to be alive.

“Guarantee your talk wasn’t as terrifying as mine,” Tony said, snapping him out of his reverie. He began wiping his hands on a rag, but they didn’t look any cleaner for it. “Natasha corned me a couple of hours ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.”

“You definitely win. I just had Steve come at me all earnest, asking if things weren’t moving a little fast, and was I sure I wanted to do this, considering we’re on a team together. The whole shebang.”

“See, you get the ‘don’t waste your time, Stark sucks at relationships’ speech, and meanwhile, I’m getting threatened.” Tony shook his head, arms folded across his chest, looking genuinely annoyed.

Bucky placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder, gave it a little squeeze, happy for the excuse to touch. He was quickly becoming a big fan of this dressed down version of his fake boyfriend, which was such a delightful contrast to the peacock of a man he’d thought Tony to be, back when he’d first seen him out of the armor.

Bucky had only been in the workshop once or twice, and that had been all business, him trailing after Steve and not getting much by way of attention from Stark. Considering all the board meetings and fancy suits, it was easy to forget Tony preferred hands-on work, that he was all muscle underneath the expensive fabric costume he wore out in the world of press circuits and high society. Had to be, really, to handle the weight and the strain of using the Iron Man armor.

“If it makes you feel any better, Steve seemed pretty convinced that I was the one who was gonna fuck things up,” he confessed, watching the genuine surprise flit across Tony’s face. “Kept telling me to be serious.”

Unable to help himself, he let his hand slide across the muscled expanse of Tony’s shoulders, changing the comforting gesture into a one-handed neck rub. Tony’s mouth fell open just the tiniest bit in surprise, a little moan escaping.

“How long have you been working?” Bucky asked, watching Tony’s eyes flutter closed, corner of his mouth curled up in a smile.

“Mm, when did you last see me?” he mumbled, head tipping forward a bit. Bucky took that as an invitation, and shifted until he was standing behind Tony, began giving him a proper shoulder rub.

The sound this got out of Tony was almost as rewarding as the full body shudder, as he relaxed into the massage, swaying a bit on his feet. Despite the slight chill in the room, Tony’s skin was warm, and a bit of perspiration was visible around his hairline. Bucky grinned, and worked his fingers and thumbs into the tense muscles, playing Tony like an instrument, enjoying the different noises he was able to drag out of the man. 

“That was a while ago, chief,” Bucky finally answered, bringing his mouth close to Tony’s ear. “You work too hard.”

Tony answered with a resigned sigh. “Believe me, if you knew what a waste of space I was for most of my life, you wouldn’t say that.”

Bucky frowned, even as he slid his hands up and along the back of Tony’s neck, fingers dragging through the messy expanse of dark hair, ultimately rubbing circles against his temples. Tony groaned again, and leaned back against Bucky, as if he needed something sturdy to ground him.

The way Tony talked negatively about himself when they were together was both familiar and concerning. Bucky was painfully aware of it, considering he’d been doing the same thing until Sam called him on his bullshit, and made him work on checking the verbal self-flagellation. Maybe he could help Tony do the same.

“Hey, be nice, that’s my fake boyfriend you’re talking about.”

That got Tony’s attention, the body beneath Bucky’s fingers going rigid, and pulling away. Reluctantly, he let him go, immediately missing the proximity, and warmth. He got the feeling that sort of human contact wasn’t exactly something that Tony let happen on the regular, and more importantly, he definitely wasn’t comfortable being told to be nicer to himself.

“Yeah, well, your fake boyfriend has real work to do,” he snapped. Bucky arched an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Tony was hanging his head, hands raised in defeat. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just cranky, ignore me,” he rambled, running a hand through his hair. And, as if it pained him to say it, he added, “That was, ah, nice. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Bucky said, waving away the apology. Tony was apparently too tired to bother hiding his relief. "Have you eaten?"

As if on cue, Tony's stomach growled loudly, and he smiled sheepishly. "When did you last see me?" he asked again. 

Bucky could only shake his head, wondering how the hell it was that Tony hadn't simply collapsed on them in the middle of a battle at some point. He had what seemed to be three full time jobs, avoided sleep like it was his enemy, didn't eat, and yeah, that just wouldn't stand.

"No wonder you’re cranky. Time for a break then. C’mon, I'm gonna make you dinner."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but then reached into the empty air and pulled a holographic clock out of nothingness, looking surprised by what he found. “It’s after five already?”

"After the speech I got from Steve, there's no way I'm just letting you get back to it, so you can skip the excuses."

Tony looked an odd mix of pleased, annoyed, confused, and resigned. "You heard the man, JARVIS. Do me a favor and run the other simulations we discussed. Let me know on the double if anything sticks."

"Of course, sir."

“Send the prelims to Bruce. And, much as it pains me, Richards.”

“Sending now.”

After making the rounds to shut down various bits of equipment, Tony wiped his hands on his pants, dirty rag forgotten about, and spun in circles a few times as if to see if there was anything else he needed to take care of before leaving. 

With a sigh, Bucky took him by the arm, and escorted him to the elevator, happy for another excuse to touch the man. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours," he answered, but then seemingly caught sight of his reflection once in the elevator. "Actually, I'm a mess. I should really just..."

"Can it," Bucky interrupted before Tony could try to give him the brush off. "You can shower while I'm cooking."

Tony laughed, and shook his head. "Wow, are you always so bossy?"

"Let's just say I have plenty of experience taking care of stubborn punks who don't think they need caring for."

There was something warm and almost flirtatious in Tony's smile as their reflected eyes met in the mirrored interior of the elevator. He gestured to himself, the picture of innocence. "I’m a punk?"

Bucky folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, most definitely."

"Well, I look forward to seeing what you can come up with when confronted with my kitchen," Tony said, doing some arm folding of his own. "I'm not sure I actually have any food."

"I'm resourceful," Bucky assured him, and as the elevator doors slid open, he clapped Tony on the shoulder and brushed past him, not leaving an opening for Tony to lock him out. 

Stark's suite was like something out of a photoshoot, which was a shame, really, because if anything it told Bucky that the man didn't really do much living in the space. There weren't any photos he could see, although there were some trinkets scattered here and there. They had the look of things Pepper had picked out for him, or maybe bought back when they were together.

Everything was oddly slick, wide open spaces, with minimalist design, and far more exposure than Bucky was comfortable with. 

From what he could see, there was a partially  open loft area where Tony’s bed was set up facing nothing but windows. Sure, it was impressive, and the sunrises and sunsets were probably breathtaking, but the sniper in him caused Bucky’s entire body to itch at the idea of Tony sleeping up there, whether the glass was bulletproof and one way, or not.

“Kitchen is over there,” Tony called, heading in the opposite direction. “Impress me, Buckaroo Barnes-eye.”

Tony hadn’t been kidding about the lack of ingredients, but Bucky didn’t let that deter him. During the war, he’d help scrounge together countless meals out of everything from rats to rations, which was a far sight worse that the random shit Tony had hanging around.

Thirty odd minutes later, the pasta was almost finished, while a rudimentary sauce was simmering away, the place smelling of garlic, and goodness. 

Hearing the sound of padding feet, he looked up to find a much cleaner Tony wandering in, wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, a beat up pair of Dickies work pants, and what looked suspiciously like Iron Man socks.

“Okay, it _smells_ good, but I’m still skeptical.”

Tony proceeded to start peeking into the pots, making to stir and taste things, prompting Bucky to smack his hand. “Ma’d rap me on the knuckles with a wooden spoon for that.”

“You could always spank me,” Tony suggested, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. His eyes widened a moment later when Bucky, not phased in the least, gave him a smack on the bottom with his metal hand. Tony scampered out of reach, rubbing his asscheek while grinning stupidly.

“Need me to kiss it better?”

“You’re worse than I am,” Tony said, sounding happy about the fact. “This, see, this is why they thought we’d hate each other.”

Bucky turned off a burner, and went to drain the pasta. “Which reminds me, did you know they had a betting pool going for how long it’d take for you to convince me to let you play with the arm?”

“No.”

“Clint lost money, apparently, so well done.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder to find Tony frowning. “What?” Tony shrugged. “It _is_ a shiny bit of new technology, you can’t blame them for thinking you’d be interested in how it works.”

“Sure, of course I’m interested,” Tony agreed, eye shifting to focus on the exposed metal of Bucky’s arm before making eye contact again. “But it’s not a toy; it’s your _arm,_ for fuck’s sake.”

It was strange to think Tony might actually be offended, and not just on his own behalf, either. In a way, it was sort of nice, although the mood it came with definitely wasn’t what Bucky had been hoping for.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know.” Bucky had found some shallow bowls, and began filling them with food. “Not if it was you. Actually, they used to service it whenever I was taken out, so I’m probably overdue for a, I dunno, diagnostic or something.”

For a moment, the red of the sauce against the pasta resembled something else entirely, and he paused, feeling the pull of unwanted memories like cold, desperate hands scrabbling over him, trying to find something to hold onto in order to drag him down into the mud, down with them. 

In his mind, there were explosions in the distance, as he shook free of the person, the _enemy_ , delivering a swift boot kick to the poor sucker’s jaw before bringing the butt of his rifle down hard against the bridge of his nose. Again, and again, and again, and the sound was awful, and the sight was worse, but he didn’t stop until someone pulled him back, away, and shoved him down on the ground with a cry of, “enough!”

One of his own experiences, then, not a Winter Soldier memory, which in some ways made it worse. It’d been a couple weeks, and he’d foolishly hoped he was done with all this, but apparently not. Maybe he’d never be done. Maybe he’d have to walk on eggshells for the rest of his life, just waiting for something innocent to trigger an episode. 

But then Tony was there, had a hand wrapped around the handle of the saucepan, just as Bucky went to let go, still thinking of the gun he’d been holding so tightly, disoriented as he’d been on his back looking up just a moment ago, and now found himself standing upright again in Tony's kitchen. He went to take a step, needing to move, and backed up against Tony’s chest, then had to struggle to remain still, to not lash out.

“You’re good,” Tony insisted, immediately stepping aside, placing the saucepan back on the stove, attempting to give Bucky space. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Bucky braced himself against the counter, took a deep breath, counted down from ten, letting the calm, quiet assurances wash over him before he turned to face Tony, feeling more than a little mortified. Oddly enough, Tony seemed completely unphased, was just standing there, chewing thoughtfully on a strand of spaghetti.

“Flashback?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting his voice just yet.

Tony nodded back, shrugged a shoulder. “I’m more about the night terrors, and panic attacks,” he said, and Bucky arched an eyebrow in surprise. 

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, considering most of the Tower’s occupants had some sort of trauma they lived with, but it was still nice to know he wasn’t alone, or being judged. Seemed like, once again, he and Tony had something in common.

“It’s gotten better. You seem to have a pretty good handle on your situation though, all things considered. I’d have been looking for an excuse to get in the suit right about now.”

“Hasn’t happened in a while.” Bucky swallowed, and watched as Tony finished assembling their dinner, heart rate slowly returning to normal. “Sam’s been working with me. It’s helped a lot, actually.”

“I used to unload on Bruce, but took pity on him and started seeing a shrink,” Tony explained. “Didn’t have much choice after Pepper dumped me. It was that, or drink myself to death, which, believe me, isn’t as much fun as it sounds.”

It should have been uncomfortable, or at the least made him feel worse, but Tony’s confession was actually a relief, loosened his tongue. “I was just gonna eat my gun, but remembered enough about Stevie to know he’d only blame himself. Besides, someone needs to watch out for his punk ass.”

“I thought I was the punk?”

“You’re both punks.”

“I can live with that.”

Tony was grinning at him, which made no sense given the topic of conversation, or the awful joke, but Bucky was smiling right back at him, and then they were laughing, which was just stupid, really, really stupid, but damn did it feel nice.

“ _Live_ with that, cripes,” Bucky wheezed.

“Awful, right?” Tony asked, shaking his head, and handing over some food. “Come on, let’s go eat in front of the TV like real Americans.”

Bucky followed him, and couldn’t help but notice Tony sat a bit closer than he probably needed to when they got themselves situated on the couch, some mindless entertainment flickering across the screen of the  criminally large TV.

As surreptitiously as he could manage, Bucky watched Tony eat, watched the efficient, almost graceful movements of his hands, and wrists. Studied the contours of his forearms, and the way the worn fabric of his pants clung to the muscles of his thighs. Watched him lick his fingers clean after finishing a slice of garlic bread, and the way he smiled cheekily when he caught Bucky watching him do it.

Tony thanked him for dinner, and although Bucky expected that to be followed by a dismissal so Tony could get back to work, it never came. Instead, they watched an absolutely awful movie together, trying to one up each other as they poked at the plausibility and poorly written dialogue, and then another, right up until Tony began to doze off beside him.

“I guess that’s my cue,” Bucky said, grinning as Tony rubbed at his eyes, and stretched.

“Mm, thanks again, this was nice.”

To his surprise, Tony got up and walked him to the door, and Bucky had to bite back his smile. For one strangely charged moment, they hovered near each other as if unsure what to do next. There weren’t any cameras to perform for, but it felt wrong, somehow, just leaving.

He wasn't sure which one of them moved first, but it didn't really matter because the end result was the same. Tony's mouth against his, warm, pliant lips tasting faintly of dinner. Bucky's pulse quickened at the feeling of teeth dragging against his lower lip, at the almost ticklish brush of Tony’s tongue sliding against his lip as he sucked it into his mouth, but his little moan of pleasure must have been unwanted, because Tony pulled away at the sound of it, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying and failing to look casual.

"Right, night," he said brusquely, and turned on his heels.

"Yup," Bucky answered, feeling awkward and aroused.

He couldn't get in the elevator fast enough, the strange nervousness following him all the way back to his room. Back to the bedroom, where he debated with himself for five whole minutes before just giving in, unzipping his pants, and flopping onto the bed.

It wasn't Tony specifically, at least that's what he told himself. It was just that he hadn't had any action—pun totally intended—since the war. He was only human, after all. The snatches of physical intimacy were just reminding his body of how long it had been since he'd had warm, willing skin sliding against his own, how long since he'd kissed anyone. Since he'd been touched, or tasted.

Way too long, was what it boiled down to, an entire lifetime really, when you thought about it, so there was no point in feeling guilty, or ashamed. No reason not to close his eyes, and lose himself in a moment's pleasure, one hand cradling his balls while the other stroked the shaft, pausing to squeeze gently around the head of his cock on each upstroke until he was too hard to go slow any longer.

So what if he thought of Tony when he licked his palm before wrapping it back around his dick, dragging his thumb up and over and around the head, sweeping up the bits of precome already gathering there.

It didn't mean anything that he touched his lips and thought of Tony's mouth against his, or that he remembered the feeling of warm, muscled shoulders beneath his hands as he pushed up his shirt and pinched one of his nipples.

No, there was nothing wrong at all in thinking back, admiring the graceful movements of Tony’s hands, or that compelling bit of sweat around his hairline, or the grease smudges on his biceps, or the way he’d smelled when Bucky had gotten up close, or the playful look in his eyes as he'd sucked his fingers clean during dinner.

It was completely coincidental that it was the echo of Tony's warm, understanding voice saying, "it's okay, you're okay," that was the last thing to run through Bucky’s mind before he was shaking with the pleasure of his orgasm, balls tight and heavy and tingling almost painfully as he came. He bit into his lower lip, head tipped back as he pumped thick ribbons of come onto himself, managing to hit the underside of his chin, his chest, the last bits of it dribbling over his own fist as he gasped in surprise at the force of his orgasm.

And if there was a strange, anxious feeling in his chest as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for his heart to calm itself again, he lied and told himself that was normal, too.

x x x

"Bullshit," Tony called, throwing popcorn at the TV. "Who writes this garbage. Clint, is it you? You can tell me if it is, buddy."

"If Clint wrote this the love story would've been between the guy and his gun."

"Hey!" Clint howled, chucking some of his own popcorn at Bucky for the comment, even as Tony said, "Good point."

Everyone pointedly ignored Steve’s quiet grumbling about the amount of popcorn on the floor, and the petulant, “Do you want ants? Because that’s how you get ants, fellas.”

"C'mon Barnes, the guns in this flick are pathetic. I'd throw them before I'd fire them."

"He's right, actually," Tony agreed, "they might as well be Hammertech."

"Didn't you and Clint specifically request this?" Steve asked. "We could always switch. You know, to something good?"

Tony squirmed around until he was no longer half sprawled across Bucky's lap—which was a shame—contorting himself in order to better glare at Steve. "Are you kidding? Closure, Cap, as in I need some."

Steve raised his hands in defeat, and Tony shared a nod with Clint before slumping back into the love seat, hooking one of his legs over Bucky's in the process.

"Seriously, though, this is awful," Tony admitted quietly, "I don't even remember why we wanted to watch this."

Bucky gave Tony the bowl of popcorn. Once his hands were free, he slid the bionic arm around Tony's shoulders, let his other hand settle high along the inside of Tony's thigh, brought his mouth right up against Tony’s ear, saying, "Because Clint and the internet are convinced it’s really about you?”

Tony laughed, his body shaking against Bucky's as he did so, and Bucky wondered if it was his imagination that Tony had shifted his position on purpose, causing Bucky's lips to brush against his skin, or if that was just a happy accident. Either way, he took advantage, nuzzling against Tony, fingers tracing little circles along the inseam of his pants, the worn denim soft beneath his fingers.

This sort of thing had become a regular occurrence during movie nights, which was precisely why they were Bucky's favorite night of the week. They'd agreed that no one was going to buy them as a couple if they didn't show any affection in front of their friends, but what had started out as sitting close had become an arm around the shoulders, and then quickly evolved into what could only be described as aggressive snuggling.

They'd been primarily occupying the love seat so they could stretch out without sharing the space, and this had only made matters worse—or better depending on your point of view. It meant Bucky frequently found himself wrapped up in a tangle of arms and legs that would have made an octopus proud. 

There was an unspoken agreement at work. Each movie night, they seemed to push the boundaries a little further, which was why Bucky's hand was resting dangerously close to Tony's crotch, and why he was pressing soft kisses against Tony's jaw, and tugging on his earlobe with his teeth.

Bucky wasn't sure why, but being around their friends while this all took place made it seem safe, appropriate somehow. Never mind that it was becoming more difficult to hide his body's natural response to the stimuli; not from Tony, but from the others. He’d given up on trying to hide it from Tony. 

Even now, his cock was swelling beneath the weight of Tony's thigh, and the bastard was well aware of it. Tony was as bad as he was if not worse, perhaps suffering from the same peculiar bravery that came with movie night, and the semi-darkness of the room, and the knowledge that they weren't alone, and so there was no need to worry about the inevitable lack of follow through.

It was probably why Tony angled his head to give Bucky more access to his neck, and shifted his leg so it pressed more forcefully against Bucky's erection. Feeling brave and encouraged, Bucky moved his hand, squeezing the muscles of Tony's thigh.

The only problem was, the upside of movie night was also the downside of movie night. Bucky felt like he was going through puberty all over again, wasn't sure how much further they could push it before one of these nights Tony managed to make him just come in his pants. 

Jerking off wasn't helping anymore, either. He'd been beating his dick like it owed him money, but it was never enough, because it wasn't Tony. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do about it, hoped Tony was at least sharing in his frustration. Bucky was scared to ask though, worried Tony would point to their inability to handle their physical responses to each other as a reason to get on with the final phase of the plan. 

The last thing Bucky wanted was for them to move onto the final phase of the plan, because that meant fake breaking up, which meant _stopping_. All of it. No more dates, or hours together down in the workshop getting to know each other, or spending movie nights tangled together. No more using the cameras scattered throughout the Tower as an excuse to make out in the hallway, which would be a real shame. They’d stepped that up, moving past the innocent brushing of lips and right onto tongues, and teeth, and Tony’s hands on his ass, and Bucky was curious to see how far things would progress on that front in particular. 

The problem was, there _really_ wasn't anywhere to go from where they’d found themselves stranded, because all of it was in the name of teaching their friends a lesson. Everything was designed to add to the shock when they orchestrated their theatrical, messy breakup, to add spice to the ultimate reveal that _all_ of it had been a joke.

It wasn't as if they were _actually_ a couple. If they were actually a couple, when the movie finished Bucky would suggest they sneak off somewhere more private, but would give up on any semblance of self restraint as soon as they were in the elevator together. He’d slide his tongue into Tony's mouth to taste the remnants of popcorn before dropping to his knees, yanking the man’s pants open, and wrapping his lips around Tony's cock. If they were a real couple, Tony would moan, and thrust into Bucky's mouth, fingers tangled in his hair, just the right side of rough, would make him take it, and he’d be able to watch it happening in the reflection of the mirrored walls, and...

Tony made a soft, surprised noise, and Bucky realized he'd been so lost in his thoughts he’d started sucking a little too enthusiastically at one of the many sensitive spots on Tony's neck, had managed to leave a livid love bite behind as a result. Now, Tony was staring at him, dark eyes hooded beneath long lashes, teeth worrying at his lower lip, and it was hard to say for certain, but Bucky thought he might be blushing.

If they were actually a couple, Bucky would give into what every fiber of his being was telling him he should do, which was kiss Tony, just lean in and ravage his mouth, slide his hand beneath the bowl of popcorn to feel if Tony was as turned on as he was, stroke him through his pants until Clint threw more popcorn at them, or Steve got embarrassed and asked them to break it up.

Instead he smiled, mouthed, “sorry,” and redirected his attention to the movie, trying to think unappealing thoughts in an attempt to calm down. He was failing miserably, of course, and the movie wasn’t helping any, because the protagonist had found himself kidnapped, much like Tony had been, only he was sharing his cell with a big breasted, scantily dressed blond woman, who happened to be intent on seducing him.

“Finally, something interesting is happening,” Clint said, as the couple began having sex, rather than trying to plan an escape.

Steve cleared his throat before standing up and heading for the kitchen. “I’m going to make us some sandwiches,” he announced, clearly not interested in sticking around for the soft-core porn.

“You know, maybe it was all the torture messing with my mind, but I don’t remember anything sexy happening when I was kidnapped,” Tony said, just the slightest edge to his voice.

To Bucky’s relief, Clint stopped the movie. “I can’t handle any more of the lame. We could be watching _Predator_ right now.”

“Good idea,” Tony said, body relaxing once again. “JARVIS?”

“Of course, sir.”

Bucky glanced over, intending to share a smile with Clint, and was a little surprised to see narrowed eyes, and a serious expression on his face. “Speaking of lame,” Clint said, and something in his tone made Bucky’s stomach lurch. “Exactly what the fuck are you two playing at?”

Tony stiffened against him, although he managed to sound completely nonchalant when he spoke. “I hear Clint using his words like a big boy, but—surprise—he isn’t making any sense.”

Clint sat up a bit, craning his neck to make sure Steve wasn’t about to walk back in, then pitched his voice low. “You might have these other suckers fooled, but I’m not blind.”

To Bucky’s dismay, Tony disentangled himself, shifting around so he could face Clint, taking all of his warmth and weight with him. He shrugged Bucky’s arm off of his shoulder before responding with, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Clint gave them both his “are you kidding me?” look before continuing. “Fine. I’ll be _specific_. The little lovey-dovey show you two have been putting on for everyone, I’m not buying it. And more than that, I don’t _get_ it. What’s the point?”

Bucky opened his mouth, not even sure what he intended to say, but Tony beat him to the punch. “The point is that we like each other, birdbrain,” he snapped, “sorry if that bothers you. Get used to it.”

If anything, Clint looked vindicated by Tony’s reaction. He smirked, and glanced between the two of them, shaking his head. “Okay, fine, you like each other,” he drawled, “congratu-fucking-lations. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a couple of fakers.”

“Wow.” Tony’s voice was flat, detached, which was a total red flag to anyone who knew him.

Clint raised his hands as if in surrender. “Look, whatever, I like a good con as much as the next guy, I’m just trying to figure out what the payoff is here, cause so far it seems like the only thing either of you is getting out of this is the world’s worst case of blue balls.”

“How about you get your own sex life instead of back-seat driving mine,” Tony suggested, jaw tight.

“Oh, _shit_ , is he not in on whatever this is?” Clint asked, looking genuinely concerned, attention focused on Bucky, as if he’d come to an unwanted conclusion. “Seriously, Barnes, if you’re playing games...”

Tony was up on his feet in a flash, halfway to the elevators before Bucky had a chance to process what was happening, and then he could only swallow past the awful lump in his throat, and rush after him.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking asshole?” Bucky hissed as he passed Clint, who now looked genuinely upset.

He had just enough time to slide through the doors of the elevator before they closed behind him, leaving him alone with a stormy-faced Tony Stark, and no idea what to do.

“So, that was unexpected,” he finally opted for.

Tony’s mouth twitched, his eyes dark, and staring holes through the floor of the elevator. He was breathing heavily, had his arms folded across his chest, the muscles in his jaw working, and without thinking, Bucky stepped closer, began rubbing his hands up and down the tensed muscles of Tony’s arms.

Dark, wounded eyes darted up to meet his own, but then the elevator doors were opening again, and Tony was brushing past him, a shout of, “are you coming, or not?” thrown over his shoulder when Bucky continued standing there, unsure of what was happening.

Bucky watched as Tony began pacing, and it wasn’t lost on him that they’d gone to the workshop, which he’d come to think of as Tony’s safe space. As he stood there, unsure of what to do or say, Tony wandered over to a bench, grabbed a tool, and hurled it across the room, hitting the wall hard enough to send chunks of plaster flying into the air.

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Tony said, his voice tight, and frantic. “I get that I’m on record as being impossible to get along with, but…”

“Hey,” Bucky took a step forward, intending to try to comfort the man somehow, but Tony’s body language was so closed off he really didn’t think it would be welcome.

“I bet you Barton’s not the only one with doubts,” Tony continued. “You could be doing this with anyone else, _anyone_ , and they’d just accept it at face value, but as soon as I’m involved? Forget it! Never mind that we’re obviously happier,” he added, whirling to face Bucky. “We even work well together, Steve said as much. I’ve been doing all the good boyfriend things, haven’t I?”

Feeling like he’d finally caught up, Bucky realized the reason Tony was upset was because he assumed his involvement was the only reason Clint had seen their fake relationship for what it was.

“Tony, this isn’t your fault,” Bucky insisted, and this time he just followed through, and pulled him into a hug. For a moment, the body pressed against his was rigid, but then Tony relaxed, wound his arms around Bucky’s waist, let himself be held. “You’ve been doing great. Better than great.”

“You realize what’s going on, right?” Tony asked, his words muffled due to his face being pressed against Bucky’s shoulder. “None of them think anyone would actually _want_ to be in a relationship with me.”

Even though he’d known that was what Tony had been thinking, hearing him say it was a thousand times worse. Bucky had to fight down the urge to go punch Barton in his stupid mouth, because it was occurring to him that Tony might want to call the whole thing off now, chalk it up to a lost cause.

Panic clawed at him, prompting him to tighten his grip on Tony, to squeeze his eyes shut, bury his nose in Tony’s hair and take a deep breath, because he might not have another chance to do it.

“Clint’s an asshole,” Bucky snapped, pulling back enough so he could see Tony’s face.

Tony was staring at him, his brows furrowed, his mouth a tight line, and Bucky braced himself for the brush off. Wondered how the hell he was supposed to handle that. This wasn’t how he’d expected it to end, he was supposed to have more time.

Would Tony take away his all access pass, pull back, use his endless list of responsibilities as an excuse to close himself off again? Would Bucky be turned away when he popped in to bring him food, make sure he actually took a break, maybe even got some sleep, or just plain relaxed for an hour or so?

He didn’t want that. Aside from agonizing sexual frustration, Tony was right, he _was_ happier, felt like the Tower was actually his home now, that he belonged on the Avengers, and all of that was because of the time they’d been spending together. And maybe Tony felt the same way about their arrangement, or maybe he could just see the sadness in Bucky’s eyes, because something shifted in his expression. 

“Right, okay,” he said, taking a few steps back, returning to his pacing. He ran a hand over his beard, tugged on his lower lip, then finally faced Bucky again. This time, he was Tony the negotiator, Tony with an idea, his voice cautious, but the change in his behavior was enough to make Bucky’s heart kick into overdrive with hope.

“Hear me out,” he began, holding a hand up as if Bucky was planning on interrupting. “The way I see it, we’ve got one of two options here. We admit defeat, just walk away,” he paused, searching Bucky’s face for something before adding, “ _or_ , we step up our game.”

Bucky’s heart lurched. He licked his lips before saying, “Clint’s good at reading people, had to be in order to survive. We should have known he’d pick up on the unresolved sexual tension.”

It was strange watching the change in Tony, the tension leaving his body, the defenses coming back down in his eyes as he nodded, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Exactly,” he agreed, tilting his chin defiantly. “It’s been two months, and it’s pretty obvious we’re not fucking yet.”

Just hearing Tony say the word was enough to send blood pumping south, to make Bucky’s mouth dry, and his fingers twitch. “Which, combined with the mutual attraction, is a definite red flag.”

“Very suspicious.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, Bucky scared to say anything, to so much as breathe for fear of tipping things in the wrong direction, because if what he thought and hoped was happening was happening…

“It doesn’t even need to be weird,” Tony said, and there was the negotiating voice again. “We’re both good looking guys, and there’s obviously chemistry between us.”

Bucky was surprised by how calm he managed to sound, because he was feeling anything but calm. “It’s not like either of us is exactly new to sex,” he heard himself say. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Tony smiled at this, took a few steps forward, and Bucky returned the smile. “Right, it doesn’t even have to be a big deal.”

“Hell, I’m assuming you’ve been jerking off as much as I have,” Bucky said, letting his eyes wander over Tony’s body, feeling brave.

“Enough to worry about giving myself carpal tunnel.” 

Bucky laughed a little louder than he probably should have, but he didn’t care. Tony was close now, close enough to touch, and he’d more or less been given the go ahead to do exactly that, only this time…

This time, when he slid his fingers along the underside of Tony’s jaw to tip his face up, when he brought their mouths together, felt Tony’s tongue slide against his own, it was different, because it could go somewhere. He didn’t have to pretend it didn’t have any effect on him when Tony grabbed him by the ass, and squeezed, pulling them closer.

“I think this’ll work out nicely,” Bucky said, doing some ass grabbing of his own, rocking himself just a bit so that Tony could feel how hard he was. This got him a little hiss of pleasure, and Tony biting down on his lower lip.

He was regretting the fact that they were in the workshop, but was almost certain Tony had picked the location specifically so there _wouldn’t_ be a bed nearby for their conversation. He was willing to bet Tony intended to introduce sexual acts in stages, like an experiment, which was fine with Bucky. Starting slow was probably for the best anyway. 

“Want to move this over to the couch?” he suggested

“Sure.”

Bucky dipped down enough to grab hold of Tony, use his grip on the man’s ass to hold him in place as he carried him over to the couch. Tony was a good sport about the manhandling, just laughed a bit, and kissed Bucky breathless.

And then he was on the couch with a lapful of Tony, their eyes open as they kissed, watching each other, taking turns grabbing, and groping, until Tony was sucking on Bucky’s tongue, and Bucky had one hand fisted in Tony’s hair, the other down the back of Tony’s pants, each of them gasping for air when they pulled apart.

“Still time to change your mind,” Tony pointed out.

Bucky stared at him like he was insane, which made Tony laugh, which in turn was distracting, because he was _beautiful_ , just stupidly attractive, all pink in the cheeks, and hungry around the eyes. 

“I’m fine if you are,” Bucky countered.

“You’re definitely _fine_ ,” Tony agreed with a wink. 

To Bucky’s dismay, Tony climbed off his lap, stood up, but then he began unfastening the front of his pants, and any complaints Bucky had went flying out the window. He watched intently, unable to pull his eyes away, even as his hands dropped so he could unbutton and unzip his own pants.

There was a moment of pleasant surprise when they each realized the other hadn’t bothered wearing underwear, and Bucky wondered if Tony’s reasons were the same as his own. It was movie night, which meant they’d be in especially close proximity, and Bucky had wanted as little fabric as possible between his cock and Tony Stark.

Unwilling to wait any longer, Bucky grabbed Tony by the arm, pulled him down onto the couch next to him, and smiled. “Have a preference?” he asked, holding up his hands and waggling the fingers. 

For just a moment, Tony looked like he thought Bucky was fucking with him, then realized that wasn’t the case at all. Tony had never acted like the prosthetic bothered him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a potential turn-off. Bucky didn’t want to assume, wasn’t sure Tony’s acceptance extended to the realm of the intimate.

As Bucky watched, Tony wrapped his fingers around the wrist of the bionic arm, brought it to his mouth, and wrapped his lips around the shiny thumb. Bucky groaned, his cock twitching in his pants as Tony smiled, and sucked on the metal, his breath fogging the shiny surface. It left Tony’s mouth with a wet pop, a tiny strand of saliva coming with it, and Bucky lunged forward, crushed his mouth against Tony’s.

Their breathing was loud and chaotic, and Bucky could hardly think, too focused on the hot, wet slide of Tony’s tongue against his own, the taste of him, the feeling of them struggling against each other. 

“Can I touch you?” Bucky asked, breathless and desperate.

“Only if I can suck your cock,” Tony countered, sliding one of his hands down the front of Bucky’s pants.

“Fuck, _Tony_.”

He gasped, trying to process this request while also dealing with the feeling of being touched intimately by another person for the first time in forever. Tony’s fingers were calloused, and warm, and strong, and _perfect_ , and wrapped around him, pulling him out of his jeans.

“Is that a yes?” Tony asked, and Bucky blinked at him stupidly, could only nod his consent. Tony looked down, licking his lips, and smiling. “Look at you,” he murmured, stroking Bucky’s cock, “absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Bucky groaned, trying to come to terms with the feeling of Tony’s hand stroking him, with the sight of his cock jutting out of his pants, the head already shiny and leaking, wrestled with the understanding that _Tony_ was touching him. _Finally_.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” Bucky murmured, thinking of Tony’s words during their first date, tearing his eyes away to focus on Tony’s face, “it’s been a while. Try not to judge if I come too soon.”

Tony just smiled at this, slowed the movement of his hand, and pulled Bucky forward for another kiss. Slow, sweet, probing. “We’ll have time for that later on,” he promised. "I'm too keyed up to last long, either."

Before Bucky could say anything else, Tony was pushing him back, was shifting his position, and he could only hold his breath, and watch as Tony’s mouth slid down, and over, and around, and…

And Bucky moaned, he keened, and bucked his hips despite his best attempts to stay still, lungs struggling to move air in and out of his body while he watched Tony’s movements. 

Disbelieving, overwhelming. The _heat_ of him, the slick, unparalleled sensation of his mouth. Strong, wicked tongue sliding along the underside of his cock, kiss-swollen lips working over the head. The hollowed cheeks, the _noises_ Tony was making, his face flushed as he worked his head up and down, up, and down, down, _down_ , taking in every last inch of Bucky, and _swallowing_ , and…

“Tony,” he gasped, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You feel so _fucking_ good, just, _oh_ , just like that.”

Tony bobbed, pulled himself up and off for a moment, and Bucky thought he might actually die from the loss of sensation, but then Tony was kissing him, and his hand returned, was stroking furiously while their tongues dueled. He bit into Bucky’s lower lip, sucked it into his mouth, and his eyes were dark with lust, and his voice actually trembled when he spoke.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” he said in a hot rush, and unable to help himself, Bucky took hold of him, pushed Tony back down onto his cock, somehow understanding that was what Tony wanted, what he needed.

He kept a hand in Tony’s hair, not necessarily guiding his movements so much as reassuring him, metal fingers tracing the compelling contours of Tony's face as he sucked, and bobbed, and stroked. Bucky tightened the grip he had on Tony's hair, was rewarded with a loud moan, the vibration making his toes curl.

"You should see how pretty you look sucking my dick," he growled, hips shifting so he could fuck up into the wet heat of Tony's mouth. Tony moaned loudly at this, and the hand stroking Bucky went faster, Tony sliding up a bit to focus on the head of Bucky's cock, teasing his tongue into the slit, tasting him, and groaning again. 

Bucky started rambling then, an incoherent litany of praise, and profanity, endearments mixed with begging, most of it not even in English, Tony’s name coming up again and again.

Tony looked up at him, up through those long, dark lashes, and there was so much on display in his eyes—affection, desire, pride, adoration, determination, and encouragement—that the orgasm almost caught Bucky off guard, slamming through him like he'd touched a live wire. He held onto Tony's hair, to the curve of his jaw through the brunt of it, crying out in disbelief and release as he shot, and shuddered, and emptied himself into Tony's mouth.

He couldn't do much more than shake to pieces, gasp, whimper, and blink, part of him still not believing what had just happened. But then Tony was sitting up again, and Bucky was reaching for him, pulling him in close, onto his lap, holding him in place so he could suck the taste of himself off of Tony's tongue, while his other hand slid into Tony's pants, wrapped around the hot, hard cock he found there.

"You're so beautiful," Bucky growled, using his grip on Tony's hair to yank his head back, giving himself plenty of room to lick and suck along his throat, his jaw, his earlobe, watching the flush spread out over Tony's skin.

"Yeah, you liked that, didn't you?" Tony asked, sliding his hands under Bucky's shirt. "Next time we get naked," he hissed, and Bucky pumped his fist harder. "Wanna lick you all over."

Bucky bit into Tony's shoulder, then yanked him up off of his lap, Tony only managing to get his legs under him at the last minute, as Bucky took him by the hips and sucked Tony's cock into his mouth.

"Fucking hell, Buck," he cried, hands grabbing fistfuls of Bucky's hair. "Oh, warnings are good, a warning would be nice."

But Tony was already recovering, staring down at Bucky affectionately, had taken the hint and started fucking Bucky's mouth, gasping when Bucky squeezed his ass and took Tony into his throat deep enough to make his eyes water.

This, this was heaven, was just what he needed, the heavy weight of Tony in his mouth, the scent of him in his nostrils, the _taste_ of him. He loved it. Loved the way Tony was gazing down at him, his mouth hanging open, looking lost in pleasure. 

Tony rocked into his mouth, a steady, wonderful rhythm, stroking Bucky's face while he did it. "You're as bad as I am," Tony said, but his tone was admiring, "and I _love_ sucking dick."

Bucky sucked harder before letting Tony slip free of his mouth with a loud, wet slurping noise. "Me too," he admitted. "I was thinking about it when we were on the couch earlier."

Tony made a delighted noise, rubbing his thumb across Bucky's lower lip. "Really?"

Bucky nodded and smiled, swirled his tongue across the head of Tony's cock, felt his own twitching with interest. He tasted even better than Bucky had imagined all those times he'd sucked his own fingers clean after jerking off to thoughts of Tony.

"Yeah, only you had me on my knees in the elevator," Bucky explained, and he felt Tony throb in his hand, could feel Tony's thighs trembling. "Wanna sit down?"

As he stared up at Tony, watching the other man swallow, he was confused by the disbelief he saw there as Tony nodded his agreement. Some quick manhandling had Tony back on the couch, Bucky kneeling between his thighs, hands and mouth working, thrilling at the sensation, lost to it to such an extent that he was caught off guard when Tony tried and failed to pull him off as he approached his own orgasm. After what Tony had done, there was no way Bucky wasn’t swallowing every last drop he had to offer.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_ ,” Tony groaned, his entire body shuddering and bucking, cock going somehow impossibly rigid in Bucky’s mouth as he came. Bucky began swallowing reflexively, a warm, wonderful feeling of accomplishment unfolding in his chest as he did so. It felt like Tony might never stop, his come coating Bucky’s tongue, the back of his throat, thick and viscous and salty and _Tony_ , all Tony, the taste of Tony obliterating everything else.

Bucky rested his head against Tony's thigh, let his hair and face be stroked while they each caught their breath, but as soon as he collected himself, he pulled Tony into another kiss. Slow, gentle, an almost hesitant sharing, Tony's hands cupping the sides of his face, his own hands at Tony's hips, fingers sliding beneath fabric in order to stroke skin. 

Bucky wasn't sure which of them began smiling like a goon first, but was pretty sure he was the first to laugh. Then they were both laughing, together, Tony tugging Bucky up onto the couch beside him. Once he was there, Tony started tucking himself back into his pants, prompting Bucky to do the same, albeit reluctantly. 

His spirits rose when Tony snuggled up against his side, wriggling around until he was comfortable, half draped over Bucky as if they'd simply picked up where movie night had left off. 

"James Buchanan Barnes, you are something else."

Bucky chuckled, wrapped his arms around Tony, burying his nose in the dark, tangled mess that was his hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Anthony."

"Your place next time?"

Bucky smiled at this, not just because there would be a next time, but because he could hear the hope, the edge of vulnerability in Tony's voice. He wanted a next time as much as Bucky did, which was wonderful, and terrifying, and exciting.

"Mm, yeah, I think you said something about licking me all over?" he cupped the side of Tony's face, pulled him into another kiss before adding, "I like the sound of that."

Tony made a happy sort of humming noise, began plucking at the fabric of Bucky's pants. "Are there other things you like," he asked hesitantly. "Or don't like?"

Bucky shifted, nuzzled the top of Tony's head again, thinking. "Uh, restraints would be bad," he said after awhile. "For obvious reasons."

"Right, not my scene, either. How do you feel about getting fucked?"

He sounded so hopeful, it made Bucky grin. "I feel good about getting fucked," he said, mouth up against Tony's ear. "Like fucking, too. Happy to try most things, really."

It was quiet for a moment, then Tony asked, "How do you feel about going out and getting burgers?"

"I feel good about burgers."

x x x

There had been a couple days of awkwardness before Clint had begrudgingly apologized to them each separately. Although Bucky still had his doubts about Clint's doubts being a thing of the past, whatever version of his apology Hawkeye had given to their resident genius had changed something.

The sex was different that night, as if previously Tony had had something to prove when they were in the bedroom, and now was just enjoying himself, enjoying being in the moment with Bucky. It was less like they were acting out porn, and more like Tony was having sex with his boyfriend. 

Whatever the reason for the change, Bucky loved it, but then he loved everything they did together. The sex was amazing, but it wasn't the only amazing thing.

At first, Tony always had a reason to leave after sex, or—as was more often the case—for both of them to go out and do something, be it grabbing a meal, or hanging out with the team. Something that meant they weren’t in a position to stay in bed together, or discuss the possibility of somebody spending the night.

And at first, that had been fine. Bucky tried to remind himself that they’d simply taken their performance to the next level, that the sex was just practical, a means to an end, but it never felt like that while it was happening. 

When they were in bed together, Tony didn’t just _fuck_ him, he made love to him. However they started, when it came to the big finish, Tony wanted to be able to see Bucky’s face, look into his eyes, pet him. He was big on kissing, or holding Bucky’s hand while taking him nice and slow.

Tony was a talker, kept up a running dialogue if he didn’t have part of Bucky in his mouth, and it wasn’t so much dirty talk as it was sweet talk, words of praise, and encouragement. At first Tony called him baby when they were fucking, but then it was James, Tony making the name sound far more intimate than it had any right to be.

 _James_ was beautiful, and perfect, was _so tight_ , felt so good. James was the one who came on command, sometimes without Tony even needing to touch his cock. James had had his body mapped by Tony’s tongue, all his sensitive spots discovered, and conquered.

It was just the name on his birth certificate, but Tony used it like a weapon, could look at him from across the room while they were surrounded by their friends, his eyes broadcasting his intentions as he mouthed the word— _James_ —and just like that Bucky would be hard, and desperate for him.

There was something unbalanced and unfair about it all, and so Bucky started calling him Anthony when they were in bed together. The first time he tried it out, Tony had looked surprised, a little confused and wary, but Bucky had just smiled up at him, said, “Turnabout is fair play,” then slid his come slick fingers into Tony’s mouth so they could be sucked clean.

Anthony was the one who casually mentioned his clean bill of health the next evening, and James's ridiculous immune system, positing the idea that condoms might be superfluous. James had liked that idea very much, as had Anthony. It shouldn’t have been, but it was a different experience altogether, less sterile, was messier, more intimate. 

Bucky could roll his hips, desperate for Tony to fuck him harder, deeper, look over his shoulder, moan, “Anthony,” and it might as well have been akin to begging. Tony’s nostrils would flare, his breathing would hitch, and he’d lose himself in Bucky.

He could find Tony in the workshop, pitch his voice low, and purposeful, bring his mouth right up against Tony’s ear, wrap his arms around him, whisper, “Anthony,” and make Tony shudder, and abandon whatever he happened to be working on.

But it was Bucky's heart that sank every time Anthony turned back into Tony, found an excuse to leave him alone in his cold, empty bed. It was Bucky who switched to sleeping on the couch with the TV on, reminding himself not to be greedy, not to ask for more than Tony was willing to give, because he'd already given so much.

For Bucky, it wasn't just about the sex, and he wanted to believe Tony felt the same. They were friends now, best friends in Bucky's mind. Tony might not want to spend the night, but he never turned Bucky away when he woke up in a panic, soaked with sweat and shaking with bad memories and a need to be near another living person. He'd stop what he was working on, listen if Bucky wanted to talk about it, or keep working and distract him if Bucky didn't. 

He wanted to believe Tony cared, because he wasn't the only one who had nightmares, and traumas, and a need to talk. He doubted Tony had had late night conversations with Clint about Afghanistan, or told Steve about all the ways he felt he’d disappointed Howard over the years, or confessed to Natasha about how he felt when Stane ripped the arc reactor out of his chest, or to Thor about the horrible helplessness of being on the wrong side of the wormhole. 

None of that felt fake to Bucky; it felt like a reason to get out of bed in the morning, felt like something worth fighting for, was quickly becoming _everything_. It was certainly too valuable to risk losing by demanding more. 

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the names and the strange intimacy Bucky associated with using them left the bedroom. It happened at the same time Tony stopped orchestrating reasons for them to go their separate ways after sex. 

One evening, Bucky was going through his regular gun maintenance routine, various weapons laid out neatly before him on his kitchen table, when Tony wandered in juggling three different tablets, absentmindedly asking, “Hey James, wanna order Chinese for dinner?”

When Bucky answered, “In the mood for anything in particular, Anthony?” Tony just shrugged, said, “Nah, whatever’s good, you know what I like.”

That night after dinner, after Anthony spent an inordinate amount of time taking James to pieces with his tongue before letting James ride his cock, Bucky stared up at the ceiling wondering what had changed and why and when and how. Not finding any answers, he let it go, just smiled at the ceiling, because he knew what Tony preferred to eat at every place within at least a five mile radius, and Tony hadn't left, was sprawled half on top of him, snoring softly. Was still there when Bucky woke up in the morning.

One night a week became two, became three, until it was most nights, the two of them sharing Bucky’s bed whenever Tony wasn’t traveling, because he couldn’t sleep at Tony’s place, the floor to ceiling windows still giving him the heebie jeebies.

They had rituals and routines, those sorts of things real couples had, which made it easy to forget, easier to pretend there had never been a plan at all.

There was no advantage to be gained by Tony standing in the bathroom eating a bowl of cereal while Bucky showered, the genius rambling on about whatever happened to be on his mind that morning, or on his schedule for the day. 

The shy smile he wore when Bucky kissed him at the door, saying, "Be good today, Anthony," before sending Tony off into the world wasn’t a performance for the cameras.

They still occupied their loveseat and snuggled during movie night, but it was far more comfortable, familiar, relaxed in a way, and the others seemed to pick up on the difference, although no one said anything outright. 

Sometimes, though, Bucky would catch Clint watching them, would feel cold dread rushing through his body in response, forced to remember it was all supposed to be an act, and one with an end at that. 

Bucky had been pushing the idea of the “final phase” of their plan from his mind with more effort than he'd used on even the worst of his resurfacing Winter Soldier memories, which was why he felt guilty, and a bit like throwing up when Steve clapped him on the shoulder one morning, said, "I hope you know how happy I am for you, Buck."

"Yeah?"

Steve was smiling, one of those genuine, wonderful Steve smiles, the sort that churned up half remembered snatches of their childhood, made him want to protect the man with his dying breath if need be.

"Oh yeah. I'm starting to think Clint missed his true calling."

Bucky's face must have said it all, because Steve just started laughing. "What're you talking about, Stevie?"

"He was the one who suggested setting you two up on a date to begin with," Steve explained, and Bucky felt like someone had dumped ice water into his veins.

“Did he now?”

It was surprising how normal he sounded, because he was pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack, or a panic attack, or maybe just faint like a Victorian maid.

Steve shook his head ruefully, attention focused once again on the pancakes he was flipping. “I’ll admit, I was skeptical, thought you two might be a bit too much alike for it to work, but he had the others convinced, and so I figured why not. I’m real happy to have been proven wrong.”

“Guess they don’t call him Hawkeye for nothing,” Bucky replied, his tongue feeling thick and too heavy in his mouth. 

Steve chuckled at this. “Now Darcy is driving him crazy, trying to get him to find her perfect match.”

“Good luck with that,” Bucky joked on autopilot, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Hey, I’m gonna take a raincheck on the pancakes, just remembered I got somewhere to be.”

“Sure thing,” Steve said, smiling wryly, his tone of voice making it clear he wasn’t buying Bucky’s excuse. “Tell Tony I said hi.”

Bucky didn’t remember the walk back to the elevators, or the ride up to his room, everything a strange, panicked haze, but then he was alone, behind closed doors with shaking hands, feeling like he was going to puke on his boots.

It was stupid, should have been hilarious, really. How many times had they asked themselves or each other why everyone was so skeptical about their ability to get along. They were so very good at getting along, after all.

Bucky laughed, had the phone in his hand, was mid-way through sending a text message telling Tony they needed to talk, when his fears and doubts caught up with him.

If there was nothing to prove to anyone, then there was no reason for them to continue on with their plan. Just because he had stopped thinking of it as pretend, just an arrangement, or anything other than the best thing that had ever happened to him, that didn’t necessarily mean Tony felt that way.

What if upon finding out the truth Tony was relieved, and not because it meant they no longer had to stage a breakup, but because it meant he was no longer saddled with Bucky? 

And why would he ever really want to be, anyway? A fucked in the head veteran was a bad enough deal, but add in the HYDRA brainwashing, the memory issues, the amputation, the countless lives snuffed out or ruined by the Winter Soldier, and you were left with a pretty raw deal as far as boyfriends went.

Sure, they were friends—Bucky was confident enough of that being real—but as much as Tony had shared with him, opened up and let him in, there was still a carefully maintained distance somewhere between them. Tony might have let it grow smaller during their time together, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still there. 

Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, or a happy moment, Tony would grow distant for seemingly no reason whatsoever, pull back from Bucky, his tone and words still warm, but his eyes shuttered, and his mind elsewhere.

The distance followed them into the bedroom, was made painfully apparent if Bucky so much as hinted at how desperate he was to fuck Tony. His tongue was welcome, and so were his fingers, but Tony carefully deflected any other intentions Bucky might have on his ass, and so he’d stopped trying. Had reminded himself he was in no position to make demands, should be grateful Tony still wanted to have sex with him at all, considering they’d only done it to prove Clint wrong.

And wasn’t that just a laugh riot? Clint, in ways that made little sense, was somehow the reason Bucky was in this mess in the first place. Clint’s involvement might be reason enough for Tony to eighty-six the whole deal. He could find someone else to warm his bed without even having to try very hard, and Bucky would be left without a leg to stand on. Would have to watch it happen, keep his mouth shut, and try to put his life back together.

“What life?” he asked no one at all, deleting the text message, and wiping hurriedly at his face, pushing away the unwanted tears.

With a deep, shaky sigh, Bucky made a promise to himself. He’d tell Tony, just not quite yet. He needed a bit more time to figure things out, was all, just needed to make sure he wasn’t the only one to have given up on playing pretend.

And when they talked, he’d tell Tony all of the truth, not just about their date that wasn’t a date but really was, but that somewhere along the way, while they were playing games, he’d managed to fall in love, and didn’t want to find a way back out again.

x x x

"Ta da!"

"Holy shit, when did this happen?"

Tony grinned, shrugged his shoulders, hands shoved in his pockets, as if it wasn't a big deal. It was to Bucky, who'd never expected home modifications could feel so much like a declaration of love.

"I've been working on it between other things," he said. "You like?"

Bucky stared at the intricate shutter system Tony had built into his suite, smiling like an idiot as Tony showed him the possible variations, how the touch interface controls worked, how to save preferences, but most of it was white noise, because Bucky couldn't stop thinking, "Tony made this for me."

"Anthony," he said, and Tony's eyes widened a little, looking hopeful, looking like he was expecting disappointment. "I _love_ it."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

Bucky pulled Tony into his arms, kissing him again and again and again, until he trusted himself not to say anything stupid. It wasn't the windows he loved, or the gesture, although that was part of it; it was Tony he loved, just Tony, everything about him from the way he brushed his teeth, to the look he got in his eyes when he came, to his bravery both in and out of the suit, to the little lines around his eyes, especially when he was laughing, or smiling, and... He had it bad, had a terminal case of love for Tony Stark. 

Tony swayed against him, hands sliding up under the back of Bucky's shirt, short, blunt fingernails dragging against his skin. Bucky couldn't seem to get close enough to him, wanted to climb right inside somehow. 

Wanted to say, "I love you," but was terrified of doing so.

But this? This was a good sign, it had to be. Tony hadn’t just _built_ him something, Tony had modified his home without being asked to do so, all to make Bucky more comfortable there. Which meant he _wanted_ Bucky there.

Bucky had been putting off the talk they needed to have for too long and he knew it, kept finding excuses for himself, sickness and dread winning out whenever he opened his mouth to say something, but maybe it was time to just man up. Bucky had been waiting for a sign, something concrete to hold onto, and this fit the bill. He’d let himself have one more night, and then they’d talk in the morning.

"Wanna go upstairs? We can even leave the shutters open." Something in Tony's expression shifted, and Bucky felt that cold dread creep over him again. "Anthony," he said, stroking Tony's cheek with his thumb, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tony insisted, although his smile was off somehow. "Uh, just... I was thinking. Maybe we could close the shutters?"

"Sure," Bucky, answered cautiously, wondering why this request was accompanied by Tony's anxious face. 

He swallowed, blinked a few times, then looked up again. "I was also thinking, maybe, if you wanted to," he trailed off, chewed on his lower lip, and Bucky waited, held his breath. The last thing he expected Tony to say was, "I want you to fuck me."

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to point out that they were already on the same wavelength when his brain caught up, finally processing the phrasing.

"I'd love to," he answered in a rush, studying Tony's face. "Only if you're sure, though."

Tony grinned, and whatever anxiety Bucky was holding onto was swept away by excitement. "Oh, I'm sure. Been thinking about it a lot, actually."

"Have you really?"

Tony nodded, and this time when he smiled, it was far more genuine. Bucky’s heart was already trying to punch its way out of his chest, because he understood enough to see this for the gift that it was. Tony was trusting him with something, had found him worthy, for whatever reason, and so he was going to do his best to treat it like the gift it was.

Despite his excitement, a part of him did a guilty little flip-flop. Even though it might jeopardize what was about to happen, he should talk to Tony now, not bother waiting until the morning. Just confess, follow it up with the declaration of love he’d been rehearsing in his mind for weeks, and then see if Tony still wanted to go upstairs.

“So, in the spirit of full disclosure—funny story—I was talking to Steve the other morning,” he began, but Tony started shaking his head, slapped his hand over Bucky’s mouth, eyes narrowed.

“Nope, no talking, it can wait.”

As soon as Tony pulled his hand away, Bucky tried again. “You’re gonna want to…”

“James,” Tony interrupted, and Bucky’s mouth snapped shut. “Not only have I been thinking about this, I’ve been planning for it, and might have made… certain preparations.”

“Are you _blushing_?” Bucky asked, completely intrigued, because if anything, Tony’s cheeks flushed even more. “Anthony, what…”

“Okay, look, you need to take me upstairs—now, _right now_ —take out this butt plug, and fuck me into the mattress. Five, four, three…”

Bucky felt like he might swallow his tongue, but by the time Tony reached “three” he had him slung over a shoulder, and was legging it for the stairs. “You’re out of your mind,” he muttered, giving Tony a playful smack on his ass. “Here I am thinking I’ll take my time on you first…”

“Next time, baby,” Tony promised, the words slightly disjointed as he was jostled on the trip up the stairs. “Sorry if you’re disappointed, but…”

Bucky tossed him down on the bed, cutting him off mid-sentence, then climbed on top of him, sliding his tongue into Tony’s mouth, thumbs stroking his cheeks as they kissed. Tony squirmed beneath him, legs wrapping around Bucky, rocking up against him.

“It’s impossible for you to disappoint me,” he said, dropping one more kiss against Tony’s mouth before making sure Tony was looking him in the eyes. “All you’ve ever done is make me happy.”

“Good.”

“Wanna make you happy, too. Whatever you want, Anthony,” Bucky promised, sliding a hand down between them to stroke Tony’s cock through the thin fabric of his suit pants. He made the most beautiful, needy noise as soon as Bucky touched him, rolled his hips, pressing himself against Bucky’s palm.

“I want you, James,” Tony answered, his voice low, steady, serious, a strange contrast to the flushed cheeks and wild eyes. “Inside me.”

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his ears, and for a moment he was confused as to why Tony was laughing, face bright, and happy, until he caught up with his body’s movements and realized he’d literally torn open the front of Tony’s pants.

“That’s one way to get me out of them,” Tony joked.

“I should be evil,” he threatened, yanking aside what was left of Tony’s pants, tossing them across the room, “make you wait.”

Tony was busy tugging at his own shirt, but paused to aim a glare of disapproval at Bucky. “ _Or_ , you get naked. Right now.”

Bucky pulled off his shirt, chuckling as Tony started undoing his pants for him, licking a wet trail across Bucky’s chest, sucking on a nipple before tugging at it with his teeth. With a growl, Bucky grabbed hold of him, bringing their mouths together for a frantic kiss, holding Tony in place as he struggled.

"Fuck," Tony murmured, pushing against Bucky's chest in an attempt to get free, and getting nowhere for the effort, his cock rubbing against the tight muscles of Bucky's stomach as he struggled. "I love how strong you are. It's stupidly hot."

Bucky grinned, kept the cybernetic arm around Tony's waist while he slid his other hand down over the curve of Tony's ass, fingers teasing between the cheeks. He encountered the base of the buttplug, rocked it slightly, and Tony groaned.

"James," he moaned, pushing himself into Bucky's embrace, his body trembling now, eyes dark, and hungry. Bucky studied his face, the way Tony's teeth were biting down into his lower lip, and loosened his grip. "Yeah, that's it baby," Tony said, and he already sounded wrecked. "Get out of your pants and into me."

Bucky let go, watched Tony watching him as he removed the rest of his clothing as quickly as possible, part of him wondering at the transformation. He'd seen Tony eager before—they had plenty of practice pushing each other's buttons—but this was a different sort of desperation altogether. 

"Get the lube," Bucky ordered, and Tony all but threw himself at the nightstand, scrambling back quickly with the bottle, his cock bobbing in front of him, thick and dark with arousal. 

Bucky wanted it in his mouth, wanted to take his time, but this was Tony's show, and so he pushed the thoughts aside. Crawled onto the bed, arched an eyebrow, and hissed with pleasure when Tony started working lube over his cock, chest heaving. 

"On my hands and knees at first," he said, eyes darting up to study Bucky's face. "You can flip me when I tell you. Don't touch my cock until I say its okay; I don't want to come too soon."

Bucky kissed him again, then gave Tony a little push, taking him by the hips and flipping  him over. "Anything you want, Anthony," he promised, leaning over to kiss the enticing curve of Tony's ass. 

As he watched, Tony spread his legs wide, bracing himself on his hands before looking over his shoulder. "Okay," he said, sliding the lube back towards Bucky, "take it out."

Bucky took a deep breath, was surprised to find his hands shaking as he took hold of the sex toy, began gently rocking it out of Tony's ass, heartbeat pounding almost painfully in his cock as Tony shook and moaned, spread his legs even wider. 

"Come on," Tony groaned, and there was already a thin sheen of sweat visible on his skin. "You're good, out out _out_."

Bucky bit back his complaints. Considering how Tony had played keep-away with his ass, Bucky had assumed slow and steady would be better, hadn't quite expected the bossy voice, or litany of demands.

"You got it, chief," he said, and pulled the plug out the rest of the way, tugging a downright scandalous sound out of Tony in the process. "More lube?"

"Yeah," Tony agreed, breathless. 

Bucky eyed the size of the plug while squirting more lube into his palm. Tony hadn’t skimped, he was stretched and pliant, and Bucky got two fingers inside him without even trying, swallowing around his anticipation as Tony cried out in pleasure. 

"Good, that's perfect," Tony insisted, looking over his shoulder. "Now it’s your turn, soldier."

Bucky arched his eyebrow, made a show of stroking himself, then returned his attention to Tony's ass. Traced the sensitive ring of muscle with his thumb, liking the noise Tony made in response, liked seeing his thighs tremble. He drug the head of his cock against Tony’s ass, slid himself between Tony’s cheeks a few times, while Tony canted his hips, and began making a distressed sort of humming noise.

Not wanting Tony to start barking orders again, Bucky took himself firmly in hand, pressed the slicked head of his cock against Tony, and _pushed_. Just enough, just the amount of pressure and effort necessary to work the head of his cock inside of Tony, and then...

" _Anthony_ ," he sighed, because even after the plug, Tony was tight, amazingly, beautifully tight, so hot, and slick, and Bucky could hardly handle it.

"Oh god, James, fuck," Tony groaned, the angle changing as Tony went down on his forearms, entire body shaking. "Just like that, James, please don't stop."

And so he didn't, he pushed on, staring down in disbelief, watched himself disappear into Tony, until there was nowhere left to go. His cock was held tight, Tony’s body clenching around him, and as he watched, Tony grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it.

“You okay?” he asked, and his voice was shattered.

Tony shoved back against him, crying out, the sound smothered slightly by the pillow. Bucky took hold of Tony’s ass cheeks, spread them apart, began to ever so slowly extract himself, while Tony keened softly into the pillow. 

"Anthony," Bucky murmured, stroking Tony's side, his back, the curve of his hip. 

"Don't you dare stop," Tony gasped, and Bucky studied his profile, couldn't tear his eyes from Tony's face. His mouth hung open, lower lip trembling, but curled into a blissed out smile, his eyes hooded, lashes fluttering.

"I won't," Bucky promised, stroking between Tony's shoulder blades, up along the nape of his neck, feeling the body beneath him tremble, and open to him. 

Carefully, slowly, he pulled out, just a little, just enough, pausing to squirt a bit more lube on himself before pushing back home.

It was overwhelming, wonderfully so; it had been years and years since he'd fucked anyone, faces and experiences dulled by time and distance. Memories of memories, but even in his wildest fantasies, he'd never had anything like this. 

He just couldn't get over the change in Tony, was as confused as he was aroused. The sex had always been great, right from the beginning, and Tony was by nature a passionate, attentive, enthusiastic lover, even when running on no sleep, and too much caffeine. 

This was different, though, this was worlds away from the way Tony could happily lose himself in the act of sucking Bucky's cock, or the sort of contentment he exhibited when licking his way into Bucky's ass. Tony always had the sweetest, appreciative expression of determination when fucking Bucky, but this? This was unreal. 

Tony was making soft, almost hiccuping noises of pleasure, rubbing his face against the expensive sheets, hands twisted in the pillow. His smile had grown, his eyes almost entirely closed, scrunched up adorably, as if he'd just finished laughing. He was flushed everywhere, his cheeks, his ass, his back, every muscled bit of him taut, glistening with sweat as if he'd been hard at work.

"Beautiful, Anthony," he said softly, and Tony's grin grew. "You feel unbelievable."

"So do you," Tony murmured, turning his face, hiding a suddenly shy smile.

Bucky shook his head, taking a deep breath, moving again, struggling with the sensation, worried he'd come before they even got started. The pressure was unwelcome; Tony clearly had certain expectations he hoped Bucky would meet, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint the man. 

Swallowing, setting aside his sudden case of nerves, Bucky grabbed Tony by the hip, then placed a hand against the small of Tony's back, pushing down to change the angle of his hips. He didn't even have time to wonder if Tony was ready because he started babbling, face pressed into the pillow again. "Come on, James, give it to me."

Biting into his lower lip, Bucky did what Tony clearly wanted. He extracted himself from the wonderful heat of Tony's body, only to slam immediately home again. The noise Tony made as he was rocked forward from the impact was just filthy, somewhere between moaning and laughing delightedly, and Bucky shook his head in disbelief. 

Encouraged, Bucky repeated the movement, slowly building up a rhythm as Tony loosened up, until he was finally able to work his hips properly, slide easily in and out of Tony’s ass. He'd thought Tony was enjoying himself before, but once the pace was picked up, so was his enthusiasm. The pillow was tossed aside, Tony pushing himself up onto his hands again, beginning to slam his hips back in order to meet Bucky’s thrusts, taking him deeper, harder.

“James, baby,” Tony gasped, reaching behind him to grab Bucky’s thigh, pull him in closer, “stop, _oh_ , stop holding out on me.”

With a huff of irritation, Bucky shifted his grip, taking Tony by both his hips, holding tightly enough to keep him from moving, and started fucking him harder, the room filling with the sound of skin against skin, echoing with Tony’s noises of pleasure, of both their heavy breathing.

“Oh, you’re brilliant,” Tony babbled, “even better than I imagined, James, fucking hell.”

That was encouraging. He liked the complements better than the demands, anyhow. "You've wanted this a while," Bucky said, and despite his best efforts there was the slightest undercurrent of accusation in his voice. 

Tony's breath hitched, and he struggled to look over his shoulder, his expression apologetic enough to make Bucky feel like an asshole. He let go of Tony's hips, got an arm around him, pulled him up and back until he was nestled against Bucky's chest. He felt like a furnace, looked worried, until Bucky used his other hand to turn Tony's face enough for a sloppy, half connected kiss. 

"Gonna make it worth the wait," Bucky promised. 

Tony shook in his arms, whimpering softly, suspended between the bed and Bucky. He grabbed Bucky's arm, wrapping his hand around the wrist to anchor himself, while reaching behind him with the other to stroke Bucky's face, grab him by the hair. 

"Already have," he said softly. "You, mm, you're better than anything, James."

Bucky slammed up into Tony, was rewarded with another of those wonderful, half laughs half moans. Despite the current situation they found themselves in, Bucky got the distinct feeling Tony wasn't talking about the sex. A different sort of warmth flooded through Bucky, as he sucked and kissed along the curve of Tony's neck, his cock throbbing dangerously, buried deep inside of Tony. 

He slid his tongue along Tony's jaw, worried his mouth at his earlobe, beginning to make some interesting noises of his own. "You're everything," he whispered, and Tony's grip on him tightened everywhere.

When he spoke, Tony's voice had lost the bossy quality, was soft, dreamlike, a bit shy. "On my back now," he said, "need to see those baby blues, soldier."

Bucky growled, released Tony, who folded forward again with a cry, but Bucky didn't flip him immediately, thrusting a few more times while he swallowed past the nervousness resurfacing. He pulled out before Tony had to ask again, though, half carried, half tossed him up by the head of the bed, against the other pillows. 

He could see how hard Tony was, looked like he might come at any moment. He had hold of himself, fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, other hand holding his balls out of the way, legs spread wide, entire body flushed. 

Bucky grabbed him, lifting his ass off the bed slightly as he fucked his way back inside Tony, appreciating the view of this position even more. He could see himself sliding in and out of Tony's ass, see the way Tony's erection bobbed with each thrust. More importantly, he could see Tony staring up at him in adoration, see the pleasure he was giving him. 

Without slowing his movements, Bucky leaned over for a kiss, found himself wrapped in Tony's arms, his mouth met enthusiastically. He lost himself to the sensation, Tony everywhere, the taste, the smell, the sounds he was making. 

Bucky rested his head against his lover’s shoulder, swallowing past the lump in his throat, while Tony played with his hair and stroked his shoulders. 

"Wanted this so bad, James," he confessed, "since the beginning. Wanted _you_."

Bucky raised his head to meet Tony's eyes, hoped he understood what was really being said when he answered, "You've got me, Anthony. I'm all yours."

Tony's smile was something else, his nostrils flaring and his eyes bright. Bucky kissed him again, felt the body beneath his shake, Tony rutting against him, cock sliding against Bucky's sweat slick body. 

"I'm gonna touch you now," he said, and Tony groaned loudly, pushing down with his hips to take more of Bucky, nodding his head. 

Bucky shifted his angle of penetration, holding onto Tony's hip for leverage as he began fucking him harder, then wrapped shiny metal fingers around Tony's cock. Tony gasped, his eyes wide, and desperate, grabbed hold of Bucky's shoulders, held on for dear life. 

Bucky's eyes flicked from watching Tony's face, to watching his hand pumping Tony's cock, to himself working in and out of Tony’s ass. Tony was close, was clenched around him, his muscles taut, thighs trembling. Bucky picked up the pace, watched Tony's eyes widen, his vocabulary reduced to _fuck_ and _yes_ and _James_. 

"Come on, Anthony, let me feel it."

Tony's head tipped back, exposing his throat as he moaned loudly, dug his heels into Bucky's ass, pulling him in deeper. Bucky could feel his entire body vibrating on the edge of orgasm, clenching down around his cock, everything still for an endless moment before Tony tipped over the edge with a wordless cry of pleasure. Bucky fucked him hard throughout, his hips losing some of their rhythm at the feeling of Tony coming around his cock, captivated by watching him empty himself onto both of them.

Tony smiled, and laughed through his release, sounding almost drunk with it, his chest splattered from the first chaotic spurts, a little puddle pooled around his navel, Bucky's own fist sticky, and glistening. Once he was sure Tony was done, he released him, licked his hand clean while Tony watched with a lopsided smile, stroking Bucky's face. 

"Your turn," he said, voice raw. 

Bucky whimpered, pulled back a bit so he could stare down at the fucked out aftermath of Tony, feeling an odd sense of pride. He wasn't that far behind, knowing Tony had had his release was like unstopping a dam. Bucky throbbed and ached, worked himself in and out of Tony, who still seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He felt overwhelmed, and so he grabbed one of Tony's hands, entwined their fingers as he pinned it to the bed, sighing as Tony's other hand stroked his back. 

And then he was gone, lost in a riptide of pleasure, thrilling at the sensation of emptying himself into Tony, eyes flying open to find himself being watched, and that looked like love in Tony's eyes, that looked just like love. 

Bucky wasn't sure how long he was half collapsed on top of Tony, but at some point felt himself being shoved gently and took the hint, rolling to the side with a gasp, staring out into the world, head spinning. 

"We never closed the shutters," he pointed out, and beside him, Tony erupted in laughter. 

"No," he agreed, wheezing, rolling to bury his face against Bucky's shoulder. "Oops."

"Not like anyone's really watching anyway," Bucky pointed out. He pulled Tony closer, wrapped his arms around the man and sighed contentedly. 

Tony was shaking, and it took a moment before Bucky realized he wasn't laughing anymore. "Hey," he said, propping himself up on an elbow, concerned. "Shit, Anthony, did I hurt you?"

Tony shook his head, but hid his face behind his hands while Bucky stroked his sides, his back, worried and feeling sick. "I'm sorry," he babbled, "what did I do wrong?"

"You did everything just right," Tony insisted, finally moving his hands, placing them on Bucky's cheeks in order to pull him in for a kiss. "This, uh, shit, sorry, baggage. Just baggage. It's okay, really."

"You don't sound okay." Bucky frowned, pushed Tony's tears aside with his thumb, shaking his head. "You'd tell me if I hurt you, right?"

Tony took a deep, shaky breath before exhaling loudly. "I promise." He worried at his lower lip, studying Bucky's face, and must have seen that he couldn't just brush it off as nothing. 

"It's just... It's been a long time since I’ve let anyone do that."

Bucky's thoughts darkened further, and he opened his mouth, stomach clenched painfully, needing to ask, but scared to know the answer. "Did somebody else hurt you?"

Tony smiled ruefully. "Not in the way you're thinking," he swore, wiping at his tears. "Shit, sorry, this is pathetic."

"Hey, I literally cried over spilled milk last week," Bucky said, shuddering a bit at the memory. It should have been funny, but he could still hear the echo of screams from the recovered memory. 

"Yes, but you have good reasons. I just have a history of trusting the wrong people."

Bucky didn't push, it wasn't his style, and after a moment Tony shifted, shrugged a shoulder. "I had a boyfriend, he was an asshole. Thought he loved me, but." Another shoulder shrug. "Guess he loved the name, and the idea of a payday more."

Bucky stroked Tony's hair, held his breath. 

"If you think I'm a mess now, you should have seen me at nineteen."

"I don't think you're a mess at all," Bucky interrupted. "I think you're amazing."

Tony smiled at this, a strange, sad little smile. "Well, this guy had a different opinion. I was a bit of a party monster back then, so one night we're at his place, doing _that_ , and..."

Tony frowned, ran a hand through his hair and sighed. 

"Drinks, I was always big on the drinking, and he was good at pouring. A Stark likes his booze. Did some other shit, too, coke and something else, one of those chemical cocktails that makes you feel like your skin is on fire, so you want to rub up against everything, you know?” Tony studied his face, and laughed, not at Bucky, but at himself. “Wow, no, of course you don’t, why would you?”

Bucky wanted to apologize for not having the context, but Tony just shook his head, cutting him off before he could say it. “Just… imagine feeling amazing, then multiply by Pi. Everything from the air, to the fabric of your clothes gets you worked up, and nothing is ever enough, but everything is too much at the same time. It’s wonderfully _awful_ ,” he explained, his voice dark.

“Okay.”

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Part of him was still stuck on the idea of Tony at age nineteen, wondering if this was before or after his parents had been killed. Once the internet had been explained to him, Bucky had searched for information on all of the Avengers. Even if he hadn’t come across the photo taken during Howard and Maria’s funereal, somewhere within his brain, possibly even put there by HYDRA, was the afterimage of a young Tony Stark, all hollow, empty eyes, looking lost in a too large peacoat, watching his parents be put in the ground. Obadiah Stane had been standing beside him, a hand on Tony’s shoulder, dwarfing the young man.

Tony was staring at the ceiling, his eyes moving, as if he was looking for something there, and as much as Bucky wanted to know what this was all about, he wanted to tell Tony it was okay, that he didn’t have to explain anything. The only problem was he had a feeling if he did this, Tony would take it as a rejection, would pull away and close himself off, hurt and ashamed.

So, instead, Bucky said, “Go on,” and took hold of one of Tony’s hands, winding their fingers together.

“It’s not even that big a deal,” Tony assured him, his expression saying otherwise. “Like I said, we were at his place, getting a little hot and heavy, and then these two guys show up that he’d invited over. Which, fine,” he shrugged, and swallowed, “we’d, uh, _shared_ before, you know, once or twice, but this time… Just so you know, it was entirely consensual,” Tony insisted, turning to look Bucky in the eyes, “I just wanted to get fucked, didn’t really care who or how many as long as it happened.”

Bucky was growing more uncomfortable by the minute, not because he was judging, but because… well because he hated the idea of anyone else touching Tony, let alone this young, vulnerable, out of his head version of the man, wished he could go back in time and stop whatever was going to happen next, because consensual or not, it wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

“Okay,” he said, “I understand.”

Tony nodded, looked a little relieved, turned to stare at the ceiling again. “I thought… Well, I don’t know what the hell I thought, really, I was kinda out of it. I was all worked up, and they were hot, and Ty was _so_ into the idea… Making Ty—well, men in general—happy was a big deal for me back then.”

It was quiet, the only sound in the room that of them breathing, and Bucky focused on the feeling of Tony’s fingers squeezing his own, whatever residual high he had been riding having long left his system. He wanted them to get dressed, because it felt _wrong_ to be having this conversation naked in bed, Tony’s body streaked with drying semen. Bucky didn’t move though, just waited.

“I guess I still have a thing for pleasing people,” Tony said after a while. “As in, I never quite got the hang of it. It was always too much, or nowhere near enough, and to top it all off, my timing is for shit. At some point you just stop trying. That’s what got Pepper in the end, I think. She was _worth_ trying for, and so I did, Buck, I _really_ tried, but it wasn’t enough. My timing is never right.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky answered without thinking, and Tony’s eyes narrowed, darkened. “All you do is make me happy.”

Eyes flashing darkly, Tony opened his mouth, but almost immediately snapped it shut again. Bucky felt his stomach clench painfully. He had a feeling whatever Tony had been planning on saying wouldn’t have been particularly nice. He’d clenched his teeth, the muscles of his jaw standing out for a moment before he relaxed, turning his head away.

“I let Ty tape me,” Tony said, and Bucky puzzled through the confession until he realized Tony was talking about video, and not actual tape. “I thought he was going to join in—like I said, we’d shared before, but he’d always been part of it. He stayed behind the camera, though, said he wanted to watch.”

“Tony…”

Tony smiled, turned back to face Bucky again, he expression challenging. “You really need to understand; I loved it,” he said. “His friends were exactly my type—think Steve and Thor if you need visuals—and good at following orders. We only did what I wanted, when I wanted it, and if you thought I was bad just now, it was nothing compared to that night. I wanted a _lot_ , and they were more than happy to give it to me. _That_ part was a hell of a lot of fun.”

Bucky wasn’t sure why, but he felt like Tony was trying to provoke him, make him say or do something judgemental, give him the opening for an argument. He was having a reaction to what he was being told, but it wasn’t because Tony enjoyed sex, it was because someone had clearly used it against him, ruined it for him in some way. He set aside his personal insecurities and did his best to ignore the barb about Steve and Thor, even if his spirits sank a bit to learn that Tony had a type, and he wasn’t it. 

“So what part _wasn’t_ fun?”

“That’d be the part where he used it to blackmail me,” Tony answered, and as much as it made him sad to hear this, Bucky was immensely relieved that Tony was going to spare him the graphic details of his threesome. “He knew dad. Knew how he felt about my 'tendencies', and the drugs. As far as dad knew, Ty was just a friend, a mentor or something, so he couldn’t exactly incriminate himself. That’s why he’d stayed off camera.”

“Did you have to pay him?” Bucky asked, not sure what else to say.

Tony laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “Oh, even better,” he said once he’d regained his composure, “I went to Obie. And, because Obie _cared_ —loved me like his own son—he got the tape back for me.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say, but Tony didn’t give him much of an opening.

“He more or less used it to keep me in line,” Tony explained, “for my own good, of course. And since I’m such a good judge of character, I actually believed that shit. I get the whole hindsight thing and all, but I should have known he didn’t give two shits about me. I mean, he _watched the tape_ , I know he did, because he mentioned specifics that would be bad enough by themselves, but all together? Forget it, my dad would have disowned me if he ever found out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tony shrugged again. “Dad died a couple months later anyway, and the next time Obie tried to use the tape as leverage I told him to go ahead. The only reason I cared in the first place was because I didn’t want to disappoint my father any more than I already had.”

“Anthony…”

“Hey, valuable life lesson,” Tony interrupted, a forced cheerfulness in his voice. “Walked away with some shiny new trust issues as my consolation prize, along with shame and self-loathing about my, ah, enthusiasm for being penetrated. Went exclusively back to women for a while after that. Rich, drunk, self-centered assholes have a reputation to maintain, and let me tell you, no one was ever surprised by _those_ sex tapes when they were leaked. You can probably still find them online if you’re interested.”

Bucky swallowed. “I’m not interested.”

“Your loss. I’ve got the other tape, too,” Tony added. “Found it after Stane died. Knowing what I know now, I’m willing to bet he orchestrated the whole thing. Ty was ambitious, and I had blinders on where he was concerned. Stane would have seen that, known he could exploit it.”

It was quiet again, Bucky at a total loss, feeling sick, and angry on Tony’s behalf. 

“Wow, way to bring down the room,” Tony said with a chuckle, sitting up.

Acting on instinct alone, Bucky grabbed him, pulled him back down, wrapped his arms around Tony and just held on tight. Tony squirmed, struggled for a moment, but slowly relaxed into it, pressing his face against Bucky’s neck, his breathing irregular, as if he was trying not to cry.

“Anthony, thank you for trusting me,” Bucky whispered, not sure what else to say. “With everything.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony insisted, but he’d wrapped his arms around Bucky, fingers tracing along the seam where metal met skin.

“It is to me.” 

Bucky gave him another squeeze, then pulled a reluctant Tony into a kiss. Tony kept his eyes averted, as if worried what he might see in Bucky’s now. He didn’t think any less of Tony, even though it had been hard to hear. After years of cutting off an entire aspect of his sexuality, Tony had trusted him with his body, trusted him with painful memories.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky opened his mouth, needing to tell Tony how much he loved him, how long he’d been in love with him, and finally let him know about the misunderstanding that had somehow led to the two of them finding themselves in bed together.

“Sir, Captain Rogers has requested your presence.”

Bucky and Tony jumped as JARVIS’s voice broke through the quiet of the room, Bucky’s heart threatening to slam out of his chest, his mouth already hanging open with words unspoken.

Tony scrubbed a hand across his face, hurriedly pushing away any leftover tears. “Now? Seriously? Can he wait, like, an hour or something?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent, sir. A potentially volatile diplomatic matter he requires your assistance with.”

“Fine, tell him I’m on my way,” Tony growled, already out of bed and heading for the bathroom. Bucky watched him go, then his brain caught up with what was happening, and he scrambled after him, overhearing Tony saying, “oh good, I’m a fucking mess,” before the door was slammed shut.

Not sure what else to do, Bucky pulled his clothes back on, kept his eyes on the door. He didn’t have to wait long, Tony bustling through a moment later heading for his walk-in closet, still looking a bit worse for the wear, but a bit cleaner.

“Tony,” Bucky called, trailing after him.

“No time, you heard J,” Tony insisted, brushing past him with an armful of clothing. “Our fearless leader calls.”

“This’ll only take a sec,” Bucky swore, watching in dismay as Tony’s mouth twitched to one side in displeasure. “I just… I wanted to tell you…”

“Whatever it is? Can wait.” Tony stopped what he was doing, whirling on Bucky, shaking the necktie in his hand. “I am _not_ in the best headspace right now. Whatever it is Steve needs me for sounded kinda important, so I need to focus on that, and getting my shit back together.”

Bucky swallowed, mouth snapping shut again in surprise. “Right, okay.”

He watched Tony angrily buttoning his shirt, chewing on his lower lip as the necktie went on, and with each layer, it seemed like he grew a little colder, a little more distant. By the time he was dressed, Bucky felt like an intruder in his space. Tony arched an eyebrow at him as he headed downstairs, and Bucky followed, suddenly unsure of what was going on.

As he readied himself to leave, Tony looked over his shoulder, and mustn’t have liked what he saw. Out of nowhere, he grabbed a nearby lamp, yanking the cord out of the wall in the process, and hurled it across the room, the glass shattering loudly, making Bucky jump.

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t have time to hold your hand and make you feel better about what an asshole I’m being right now,” he said in a rush, “and I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky lied.

“Seriously,” Tony added, and surprised Bucky by grabbing a fistful of the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a rough kiss. “I’m not mad at you, you’re just here. And it isn’t fair, and I know that, but...”

“You don’t have time,” Bucky finished with a smile. “Go. We’ll talk later.”

Tony looked slightly less on edge when he smiled back. “Thank you.”

Bucky kissed him once more, just a quick press of the lips, said, “Be good today, Anthony,” before letting him go, watching the way Tony’s expression softened in response, his eyes becoming a little brighter, as if he might cry again. 

With a nod, Tony headed out, Bucky hanging back to clean up the shattered lamp before leaving, never suspecting how long it would be before he saw Tony in person again.

x x x

Bucky looked up as Steve, Sam, and Natasha came pouring out of the elevator in the middle of an animated, amusing sounding conversation.

“Hey,” he called, and got a collective greeting in turn. “Everything go okay?”

“Crisis averted,” Sam announced, raising his hands in victory. “Your boy has quite the silver tongue.”

"I should have a joke for this," Clint said from his spot beside Bucky on the couch.

Bucky elbowed him, then looked around, slightly confused. "Where is he, anyway?"

Steve frowned, exchanged a quick glance with Natasha, and Bucky felt a strange bottom dropping out sensation. "He headed back hours ago," Steve answered. "JARVIS, did Tony make it back to the Tower okay?"

"Indeed. Sir is currently in his workshop."

Everyone stared at Bucky, who felt himself prickle under the scrutiny. To say Tony had been in a mood when he headed out would be an understatement. It really wasn't that surprising that Tony might need some time to himself, to get lost in the safety and comfort of hands-on work, so he told himself there was no reason to be upset. 

Sure, it stung that Tony hadn’t told him he was back, but it wasn’t like he was under any obligation to report in, either. It didn’t have to mean anything at all, or that was what he told himself, as he forced himself to remain where he was, be patient. But as the hours ticked on and Tony still failed to make an appearance, Bucky felt all eyes were once again on him.

"Dude, it's movie night," Clint pointed out, cornering Bucky in the kitchen.

"I know."

Clint stared at him. "Hey JARVIS, tell Tony to come out of the bunker already. We need someone else with good taste up here to sway the vote."

There was no reply from the AI, but after a moment Tony's voice came over a nearby speaker, sounding off somehow. "Sorry buttercup, you're on your own. I've got other plans tonight."

"Do you want some company?" Bucky asked, staring at the ceiling as the silence stretched out awkwardly. "Um, hello?"

"I'm afraid sir has terminated the connection," JARVIS explained, and if Bucky wasn't mistaken there was more than a little disapproval in his voice. 

Clint was staring daggers at him now. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Bucky insisted.

"What's the popcorn status fellas?" Steve asked, his cheery expression faltering once he caught sight of his friends. "What's wrong?"

"Tony isn't coming to movie night," Clint answered darkly, unblinking eyes never leaving Bucky's face, "and as soon as Barnes here spoke up, he ended the conversation."

Steve's brow furrowed, and Bucky momentarily shoved his concern aside, letting irritation take it's place instead. "I didn't _do_ anything!"

Clint was still staring, and Steve stepped closer, dropping a hand onto Bucky's shoulder. "Tony, is everything okay?" he asked, assuming JARVIS would relay the message.

"I’m terribly sorry, but sir has initiated Do Not Disturb mode," JARVIS said, still sounding disapproving. "He does state he is available for any official Avengers business, but requests to be left alone otherwise."

"See!"

"He was still talking when I last saw him," Bucky snapped. "He had a rough afternoon, I'm sure he just needs some alone time."

"Rough how?" Steve asked. 

"It’s private," Bucky answered, trying and failing to hide his irritation.

"Right, but he was talking and disturbable _before_ he heard you _,_ so whatever is going on right now is about _you_ somehow," Clint pointed out. 

"It could be a good thing," Steve suggested, looking hopeful. "He's in the workshop, so he's probably building something. Maybe it’s a surprise? Your anniversary is only two months away."

Bucky felt his heart skip, his anger evaporating. "Did he say something about that?" Steve gave him a look, eyes darting over to meet Clint's. "What did Tony say?"

"Jeez, Buck, we just talked," Steve answered, sounding exasperated. "What the hell is going on?"

"What did you talk about specifically."

Steve folded his arms across his chest, and gave Bucky the Captain America stare. "How good you've both been doing," he answered. "I think he was surprised how long it's been since your first date."

The sinking feeling grew stronger. "So you talked about the date."

"Yeah, Bucky, we talked about your first date."

Bucky stalked out of the kitchen, ignoring Clint and Steve calling after him, was already in the elevator by the time Sam and Natasha were on their feet. He jabbed at the buttons, looking away from his own reflection as the doors slid shut, and the elevator began to descend. 

He watched the numbers ticking down on the display, running words over in his mind, convincing himself that once they spoke, everything would be fine.

The elevator jerked to a halt, but the doors didn't open. "JARVIS," he said, looking up toward the camera. "Open up."

"I'm not at liberty to override sir's orders. Additionally, your access to this area of the Tower has been revoked."

Bucky had worried about being shut out, but hadn’t quite expected this, swallowed past his frustration and fear, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Tony," he called, surprised how calm he sounded. "This is just a misunderstanding."

It was quiet for long enough that Bucky began to wonder if Tony was even listening. "I'm not leaving until you let me in," he said, louder now, a bit more frantic sounding. 

"Hope you like small, enclosed spaces then."

Bucky ignored the cold, angry tone in Tony's voice, focusing instead on the fact that he was at least listening, was talking. “Tony,” he called again, hands braced against the doors of the elevator, “let me explain, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

"Interesting," Tony said after a moment, "because what I'm _thinking_ is that you've been lying to me."

Bucky swallowed, head tipping back so he could stare into the camera. "It wasn't like that. Just let me in so we can talk about this, okay?"

"So you're saying you didn't know?"

"No, I mean, _yes_ , but not..."

"Here's how this works. I'm going to end this conversation, you're going upstairs, and everything goes back to the way it was before."

Bucky stared at the cold, unblinking eye that was the camera, not quite believing what he was hearing, his voice shaking with emotion when he begged, "Anthony, don't do this!"

"Do _what_ , Barnes? All I'm doing is following the plan. You remember the plan, right? If I'm not mistaken, you're the one who suggested it during our _date_ in the first place."

"Anthony, please," Bucky had been prepared for a fallout, but this? "Just give me a chance to explain..."

"You know what? I really don't want to hear it," Tony interrupted. He sounded worn thin, resigned in a way that terrified Bucky. 

"Damn it, Tony, I tried to tell you! Today, even, but you wouldn't let me..."

"Wow, convenient," and Bucky's spirits sank further, because he'd heard the sound of ice cubes rattling around in a glass. “How ‘bout all the other days? Had no problem keeping your mouth shut then, letting me think… You know what, nevermind, this conversation has already gone on too long as it is.”

Bucky took a deep fortifying breath, tried to calm down, but he was two seconds away from trying to pry open the elevator doors. 

"Please don't do this," he begged, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you, Anthony, please just let me..."

The laugh that echoed through the elevator was sad, full of disbelief, and dark humor. "Fuck you. You don't get to say that to me," Tony said, sounding tortured. "Not _now_ , you... I'm done, I can't do this. Thank you very much for reminding me why I can't trust people."

"Anthony!"

"Stop calling me that," Tony shouted. "You've lost your privileges. You're going upstairs, you're leaving me alone, or I'm going to leave the country, and have fun explaining to _Stevie_ why the Avengers are short one Iron Man. You only talk to me in the field, and only about what’s necessary for the mission."

Bucky's hands slid from the elevator doors, dropping to his sides as he gawped up at the camera, feeling all of the fight wash out of him. He swallowed, his mouth working as he struggled to process what was happening.

"Understood?" Tony asked, voice cold. 

Bucky blinked back the tears, answered with a quiet, defeated, "Yes."

"Good, then we're done here."

The elevator hummed to life, began rising, the numbers ticking up, returning him to the communal level. Bucky sank to the floor, feeling like he wanted to vomit, or scream, feeling a cold, dead sensation gripping his heart. He watched fat tears land on the floor beside his hands, not even aware they were his own, trying to understand how it'd all gone so wrong, so fast.

He was still on his hands and knees when the doors opened, stayed there until Steve found him, half carried, half dragged him out. 

Steve was warm, and strong, and the entirely wrong shape when Bucky hugged him, holding on for dear life, his body protesting, cataloging all the ways it felt awful to hold anyone other than Tony, even as he shook apart in Steve's arms, crying like his entire world had come to an end. 

x x x

Time was a funny thing. All the moments you wanted to last forever went by in the blink of an eye, while the bad ones seemed to drag on into infinity. He’d been so caught up in the world he and Tony had been building together that he hadn’t even noticed the passage of time, and now that it was over, every minute stretched on for hours.

Bucky hurt, and the worst of it wasn't even on his own behalf. It was a special sort of hell, knowing however bad he was feeling, Tony was feeling worse, and that it was his fault. The need to fix it was overwhelming, all consuming. It left him sick, and broken, and desperate, but he couldn’t find a way out. Not if Tony wouldn’t even talk to him. 

The others weren't exactly thrilled with either of them, especially not Clint, who had thrown an absolute fit once Bucky had managed to explain what had happened.

"Steve was right, you're too much alike," Clint had shouted. "You idiots could have been so good for each other, but you're so busy hating yourselves that you managed to fuck up the simplest thing ever!"

Having Tony so close, but so far away was torture. Bucky only made it harder on himself by playing and replaying a saved voicemail he'd uncovered, Tony rambling on about how boring meetings were, and how Bucky was lucky to be out in the field. He flipped through the photos on his phone, time and again coming back to the two of them in the elevator, Tony grinning while Bucky kissed his cheek. 

And still, as bad as it was for him, Tony would be feeling _worse_. He'd been in absolutely the wrong headspace when he'd found out the truth about the date, and was operating under the assumption that he'd been played yet again by someone he'd trusted. Bucky wanted to explain that Tony had done everything right, that it was _his_ fear, and _his_ shitty timing that had ruined what they had. But Tony wouldn't listen. 

Tony also wouldn't see Steve or the others unless they promised not to meddle. Steve had agreed on everyone's behalf for the good of the team, and this agreement extended to reporting back to Bucky on how Tony was doing. 

The one time he’d asked, he’d felt Steve’s sad little smile like a suckerpunch, as he’d answered, “I’m sorry, Buck, but I can’t talk to you about him.” 

As the days became weeks, Clint had softened, had apologized, had been the one sneaking into Bucky's darkened suite to pull him off of the couch, drag him out of his self imposed isolation. 

Steve was there for him as well, but he was in the uncomfortable position of having his time split between two hurting people who weren't talking to each other. From what Clint had carefully hinted at, the more time Steve spent with Tony, the better.

And so, as if some arrangement had been made, Clint was there whenever Steve couldn't be, even if half the time he wound up barging his way into Bucky's suite, game system under his arm, ready to play there all day while Bucky stared holes in the walls. Then it was dragging him out for sparring sessions, reminding him that Steve had mandatory training requirements to be met. Then it was target practice, and Bucky lost track of the hours they spent on the range. No matter how unstable he felt emotionally, his hands remained steady. With a gun in his hand he could channel everything hammering through his mind and heart down to focusing on putting a bullet through targets in the distance.

It reminded him a bit of the war, of the strange numbness he’d felt beginning to creep into him the first time he’d put a bullet through another human’s head, snuffed out their existence. The numbness grew every day, every minute, hurried along by the first time he’d held someone while they died—why did they all have to cry for their mothers?—and all of the horrible things he’d seen and felt and done before they’d been taken prisoner, before Steve had returned.

Having Steve there had been a relief at first, but quickly became an issue. He had to pretend everything was okay, that he was the same person Steve had grown up with. Had to worry about what he was meant to do if he was too slow one day, and a bullet found its way to Steve. He wasn’t sure he could have survived that.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to survive Tony, either.

So he’d been thinking about the war a lot, and of the alien, almost comforting detachment that accompanied most of his memories of the Winter Soldier. Coupled with the thoughts and feelings he had over what had happened with Tony, he didn’t trust himself to keep it together, even with Clint’s assistance. Hating it, but knowing he needed the help, he went to Sam’s group meetings, sitting in the back, just another quiet, distant person in a group of quiet, distant people.

He spoke up during group, just once, and the only thing he’d said was, “I don’t think I know how to be a person anymore.”

Sam had wanted to talk to him afterwards, but Bucky had slipped out without anyone noticing, almost like he’d never been there to begin with.

During movie nights, he sat in his kitchen, staring at nothing while cleaning his guns, refusing any company offered. He wasn’t sure if Tony was attending or not, but didn’t want him to feel like he had to miss spending time with their friends just to avoid potentially seeing him. They’d been Tony’s friends before Bucky had come along, anyway.

More than a month later, he still hadn’t seen Tony. Bucky was certain JARVIS kept tabs on his movements, allowing Tony to come and go without them running into each other accidentally. Because of this, the evening the elevator stopped on the communal floor and Tony wandered in with a giggling, leggy blond on his arm, Bucky knew it was intentional. It was meant to hurt, and did it ever.

“So, this is the gang,” Tony explained, sweeping his arm out, the gesture meant to encompass the room. “Gang, this is Lacy.”

“It’s Lucy,” she corrected, nose wrinkling in a frown. 

"Whoops."

Tony laughed, pulling her closer to his side, and Bucky tried, but failed, not to look. To not stare at Tony like a starving man might look at an all you can eat buffet. He'd changed up the cut of his facial hair slightly, looked clean, put together. Press circuit Tony Stark, all bright and playful, handsome and empty. 

Watching his movements, Bucky could tell Tony had been drinking. He looked a bit thinner, too, a little sharper around the eyes, and there was an uncomfortable edge to his smile. 

Bucky wanted to run to him as much as he wanted to run away, but couldn't seem to move. Tony's hand slid lower, coming to rest over the curve of Lucy's hip, his smile growing once he picked Bucky out of the group, looked him in the eyes.

Just like that, he knew, knew Tony was going to take this girl upstairs and fuck her, not because he wanted to, not because he cared about her, but because it would hurt Bucky. 

He didn't remember moving, but he was up on his feet even as he heard Steve's voice, low and concerned, asking, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? Introducing my new friend to my old friends?"

"Who's that?" Lucy asked as Bucky yanked open the door to the balcony, cold air hitting him in the face. 

The last thing he heard before the door closed behind him was, "Nobody that matters."

Which was true. 

Bucky sucked in lungfuls of air, swaying slightly as the winds buffeted him before fishing out his phone. He looked at the photo of him and Tony together one last time before hurling it out into the void, his entire body shaking. 

"Hey, come back in."

"Don’t worry, we can't even be sure jumping would kill me."

“Not fucking funny.” Clint grabbed him by the wrist, and Bucky shifted until they were holding hands instead.

"I know. Sorry."

"He wouldn't do this if it didn't matter to him," Clint pointed out. "If _you_ didn't matter."

Bucky nodded, focused on his breathing. Held Clint's hand a little tighter. "This sucks."

"Yeah, I know it does. Give him time, Bucky."

Bucky nodded again, felt a little less like he was spinning out of control, and let Clint lead him back inside. There was nothing he could do while Tony was unwilling to listen, and so he would need to be strong, be patient, wait, and hope. Maybe someday they could at least be friends again, once time and distance worked its magic. 

And if Tony never forgave him, then Bucky would have to live with that. It wouldn't be easy, would hurt for maybe the rest of his life, but he'd lived through countless horrors and made it out the other side. At least this time, he knew he had people who cared. They cared even knowing all the awful things he'd done, which was more than he'd ever expected to have when he’d started remembering who he was.

That was something, at least.

  


\+ + +

Seeing Tony during missions would be difficult, he’d known that, so Bucky was proud how well he handled honoring Tony's wishes the first time they were out in the field together. He kept his eyes averted, kept his mouth shut, checked and rechecked his weapons, became a weapon himself, wrapping the numbness around him like his very own suit of armor. 

He'd expected Tony to torment him, needle him in some way, or throw insults his direction, but instead he was the picture of professionalism. He also seemed sober, which was a relief. 

Everything went smoothly, he and Iron Man even collaborating in the field as if nothing had changed between Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes. Steve had thanked him after, commended him, and he assumed Tony had received the same treatment.

All of the Avengers seemed relieved, once he bothered to take in their collective mood, and he felt like an asshole all over again at the realization. The team was the best thing to happen to some of the damaged, talented people surrounding him, the Tower the only stable home they’d ever had, and his and Tony’s situation had jeopardized that.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky walked over to where Steve and Tony were huddled together running a mission postmortem, coming to a stop a respectful distance away, waiting for them to acknowledge his presence. Steve wore his classic concerned expression, as if trying to beg Bucky with his eyes alone to just quit while ahead. For his part, Tony looked equal parts angry, scared, and intrigued.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He risked another quick glance at Tony’s face before focusing on a spot in the distance, just over the man’s shoulder. “Just wanted to thank Iron Man for having my back earlier. Didn’t spot that last AIM trooper, so it’s appreciated.”

It was quiet for a moment, but then Tony answered, and he didn’t sound angry, he sounded surprised, maybe even a little confused. “Yeah, sure, I mean, of course. Any time. You sort of did have your hands full with the other dozen or so you were beating the everloving crap out of.”

Bucky nodded, let himself take one last, quick look at Tony before sharing one with Steve, and leaving them to finish their conversation. He felt Tony watching him as he left, hoped he could just accept the thanks for what it was, and not manage to read any ulterior motives into the conversation. He’d lost his lover, lost his best friend, but he’d be damned if he’d lose the Avengers too.

He took it as a good sign that, as they prepared to head home, Tony said, “So, we feeling Malaysian?”

“I vote BBQ,” Clint said, and several other hands went up in agreement.

“BBQ it is then,” Tony conceded.

Post-mission meals were a tradition, one started by Tony himself, and it wasn’t until Tony said something that Bucky understood that everyone else had been pre-emptively disappointed, assuming that it wouldn’t happen this time around. And even though the idea of eating at a table with Tony left him feeling a little sick with dread, Bucky recognized the gesture was costing Tony something as well, and so he stowed his excuses, and they all had a meal together as a team for the first time in almost two months.

Everyone tried almost too hard to keep the conversation upbeat, to minimize any potential uncomfortable silences, and Bucky did his part as well, joining in whenever he could think of something to say, eating although he wasn’t hungry, even letting Clint drag him into an old argument over who made the best rifle scopes.

At several points over the course of the meal, he felt the weight of Tony’s scrutiny, did his best to ignore it, carefully avoiding eye contact, or any form of direct conversation with the man, not wanting to potentially ruin the good mood at the table.

He wasn’t sure how or why, but something had changed as a result of the mission and the meal. Tony began spending more time out of his workshop, surprisingly didn’t hightail it if Bucky happened to walk into a room he was in. They didn’t talk, but it still felt like progress.

It made it harder for him, though. Everyone was counting on him to help maintain the peace, to help put their family back together, and so he couldn’t run away from the proximity. It hurt to see Tony again, to hear his voice, his laugh, to see the subtle changes in him, to know that these days it was Steve interrupting his marathon work sessions with sandwiches and coffee and conversation. It was Steve sitting next to Tony on the loveseat during the next movie night, which they’d both attended for a change.

Bucky was the one who drank in every painful detail of Tony whenever he thought he could get away with it. Bucky was the one who couldn’t sleep in his bed, or even on the couch anymore, choosing the floor when he bothered to sleep at all. 

It was Bucky whose body betrayed him, desperate for touch and attention and all too willing to provide him with now painful memories of pleasure at the hands of Tony Stark, until he couldn’t take it anymore and had to touch himself. The masturbation was empty, and awful, and far too often interrupted by intrusive thoughts, his imagination betraying him with reconstructions of the different ways Tony might have fucked the curvy blond he’d brought home.

While everyone around him cautiously got on with their lives, Bucky felt more and more disconnected from his own, just a body going through the motions. He ate at the appropriate times, trained at the appropriate times, made a point to go to group, to seek out Clint in the moments he most wanted to curl into a ball and hide from the world, to participate in any team activities, but he still felt removed from it all.

He reminded himself it hadn’t been that long, in the grand scheme of things. He just needed more time. Until then, he would keep going through the motions, act as if. Eventually, he’d feel it again. 

These things just took time.

  


\+ + +

Halfway through the briefing, he felt Tony's eyes on him, looked up, met them, didn't look away. Bucky told himself he was imagining the concern he saw there, although it wouldn't have been unwarranted. He hadn’t had a haircut since before they’d broken up, hadn't been on the best of terms with his razor lately either, was certain that geared up and in the tactical armor he looked far more like the Winter Soldier than anyone was comfortable with. In fact, Maria Hill had given him an appraising look of her own upon seeing him.

He held Tony's gaze until the other man grew uncomfortable, looked away. Bucky refocused his attention on the displays in front of them instead, concentrating on Steve’s words as he reviewed their strategy, and the next time he felt Tony's eyes on him, he didn't look up.

It was unexceptional, as far as missions went, but still a welcome distraction. Steve had agreed to leave the sniping to Clint, Bucky preferring to have the opportunity to get up close and personal with something. He felt restless and oddly removed from his body, and the physicality of battle was refreshing.

He was careful not to take his frustration out through excessive violence; there was nothing but trouble down that road. Instead, he was efficient, neutralizing everything in his path as quickly and cleanly as possible, while minimizing any personal risk. The last thing he needed was to be benched for losing control in the field.

After, he'd stood in the helicarrier, arms hanging limply at his sides, breathing evenly, feeling calm, and empty. Clint hovered nearby, as if Bucky needed protection from something. He’d been doing the hovering thing a lot lately.

"I'm fine," he said softly. 

"Are you sure?" Clint's voice was just as soft, his eyes searching Bucky's for something. "You do realize you just took out like 80% of the opposition on you own?"

Bucky blinked, eyes narrowing. "You're exaggerating."

"Not really." Clint glanced over to where Steve and Tony were talking. "Don't get me wrong, it was a thing of beauty, and you technically followed the plan to a T, but... Don't be surprised if Cap is concerned."

Bucky followed Clint's line of sight, found Tony was watching him again. He had the helmet off and the same, strange look in his eyes. Tony didn’t look away this time, gave Bucky a nod of acknowledgement, and a sad little smile. Seeing it aimed in his direction made his stomach clench, his heart race. Swallowing around his hope, Bucky nodded back, then looked away, scared to keep watching in case Tony had really meant the gesture for Clint. 

Clint was watching him, of course. 

"After dinner, let's go do something," Bucky heard himself suggesting. "Something normal. If I spend any more time at the range Stark’ll start billing me for all the ammo I’m blowing through."

Clint's face cracked into a smile, and he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. "Yeah, how 'bout we go shoot pool instead. We can hustle some suckers."

"Your idea of normal worries me," Bucky said, but he followed this up with, "but sure. Let's do that."

Clint opened his mouth, but Bucky never found out what he had planned to say, their conversation interrupted by a squawk over the intercom. 

"Looks like whatever you took out was only the first wave,” Maria announced. “Put it back on the ground and get back to work."

"Of course," Clint complained. "I knew it was too easy.”

Bucky watched Clint’s expression shift, and just the way his eyes met Bucky’s own was all the warning he needed to prepare himself before he heard Tony say, “I need to talk to Barnes for a minute. Alone.”

Clint seemed like he had no plans to go anywhere. “Go ahead,” he signed, something Clint had been teaching him to do as of late. Steeling himself, Bucky turned to face Tony, tried to keep his voice unconfrontational when he asked, “What’s up?”

“Kind of what I’m wondering,” Tony asked quietly, but there was no heat behind the words. “You planning on leaving anyone for us to fight this time around?”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure what the best answer was, especially since he’d more or less been unaware of monopolizing the battle. He didn’t really envision anyone being comfortable with knowing that. 

He must have taken a bit too much time to think about how to reply, because by the time he said, “I was careful,” Tony was asking, “are you okay?”

He blinked, mouth opening with an automatic, “no,” before he caught himself. “I’ll be fine. I’m not even tired.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“You asked if I was okay.”

Tony frowned, scrubbed a hand through his hair. This time, he got more specific with his question, and Bucky’s spirits sank. “Psychologically, are you good to go back in?”

"I wouldn't risk the safety of the team." Bucky was unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

If anything, Tony's expression softened further. "No, that’s… Of course not, I know that.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, as if a headache was coming on. Bucky could read the tension in every line of his face, expected Tony to just turn and walk away, but he didn’t.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he finally said, breaking the silence that had stretched out uncomfortably between them.

That was confusing though, because they _were_ talking. Bucky racked his brain, could only come up with one reason that made any sense, and finally felt something. It was panic, but at least it cut through the fog. “Please don’t kick me off the team.”

“What?” Tony was the one looking confused and panicked now. He glanced around quickly, as if worried they’d be overheard, then in a low, urgent voice said, “No, I’m not… _No one_ is kicking you off the team. Why would you think that?”

The relief was certainly better than the panic, but neither helped with his confusion. He didn’t bother answering Tony’s question, asked, “What is it, then?”

Tony swallowed, and Bucky realized he was scared. “Me and you, as individual human entities, outside of the Tower; I was hoping _we_ could talk. And listen. Together.”

Bucky assumed his disbelief was painfully obvious, because Tony’s expression shifted, and even before he opened his mouth, Bucky knew Tony was about to take his shock as a resounding _no_.

“I understand if you don’t want to,” he said, even as Bucky said, “okay.”

They stared at each other for a beat, and Bucky could only appreciate how spectacularly bad they’d become at communicating with each other. 

“Okay?” Tony confirmed, eyebrows raised. Bucky nodded, not sure anything he said would make things less awkward. They were landing, which meant they were running short on time, anyway. “Okay. Good. That’s great. Um, after all this, then?” 

“Sure.”

“Great.”

Tony nodded, looked like he was about to walk off, so Bucky went to do a final check on his weapons. Before he could do so, Tony surprised him yet again. 

“James,” and hearing it was wonderful and awful all at the same time. He was sure Tony could see the pain in his eyes, but he didn’t look away, let some of his own show through, perhaps in solidarity.

“In the spirit of full disclosure—I couldn’t go through with it. I just… I didn’t _want_ to. Left her in my suite and got blackout drunk down in the workshop instead.”

“Oh.”

“For whatever it’s worth,” he added, looking away, looking ashamed as Captain America ordered everyone to assemble.

“It’s worth a lot.”

And it _was_ , it was hard not to run the confession over and over in his mind as they hit the ground, headed into the thick of it. With great difficulty, he distanced himself again, tucking his hope away somewhere safe, focusing on the task at hand. He couldn’t exactly find out how willing Tony was to listen if he got himself killed by having his head in the clouds before they could have a conversation.

Bucky was cautious, a bit more reserved than the first time around, although he was beginning to wonder if they were focusing on him in particular, because he still wound up dealing with more than his fair share of the combat.

After, Steve split them into groups of two, ordered recon of the area to make certain there wasn’t a third wave about to show up and embarrass them again. Sam covered him by air as he picked his way through his assigned area. 

As he was finishing up, he heard a cry for help, froze, ears pricked up. And, faint, again, but nearby, coming from inside the building he was standing in front of. 

"Captain, I have a possible injured civilian. Permission to investigate?"

It was quiet for a moment, but then Steve came back with, "Go ahead. Falcon, keep your eyes open. Report immediately if you see anything out of the ordinary."

Bucky adjusted the grip on his rifle, pulled on his night vision goggles to compensate for the low light, and began to make his way into what looked to have been an office building. It seemed structurally sound, most of the damage superficial at least, but he was still wary of his surroundings. 

This time the cry was louder, but something about it set his nerves on edge. It sounded almost identical to the previous cries, suspiciously so. 

"I might have walked into a trap," he said over the comms. 

Almost immediately, Steve ordered, "Pull back. Falcon?"

"On it."

Bucky grit his teeth, trying to block out the sudden chatter as he focused on his surroundings, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun, low, quick, and deadly, but there was nothing there to strike, just shadows and dust. From deeper in the building, he heard the cry again, and froze.

Steve was in his ear, ordering him once again to pull back, and so he spun on his heels, running towards the exit. Before he knew what was happening, he was being thrown backward, half blinded by a flash of light, a wall of heat and noise and rubble coming with him. 

Bucky was tossed like a ragdoll, smacking into a support column hard enough to knock the wind out of him. His ears were ringing so badly that it took a moment to register that someone was shouting into his ear, demanding he report back. 

"Definitely a trap," he said weakly, wincing as he took a breath, and tore off his goggles. He'd cracked a rib for sure. Almost immediately, the smoke stung his eyes, made them water.

"Can you get out of there?" Steve sounded immensely relieved, albeit anxious. 

"Hold on."

Bucky got to his feet, picking up his weapon before moving on cautiously. The building was far less secure now that it'd mostly exploded. The air was thick with smoke, smelled like burning insulation. 

Carefully, he picked his way through the mess, having to change his route several times. The whole front of the building was looking hopeless, leaving him with the unappealing option of heading off toward whatever had been making the noise that had lured him in to begin with. 

"Can't get out the front."

"Hang on," Tony's voice came over the comms, "Pulling up the building plans, compensating for structural damage, and…"

There was another movement, and this time when Bucky whirled to meet his attacker, his blow actually connected with something. “I’m not alone in here,” he snapped, cracking his opponent in the head even as a blade scratched his cheek, drawing blood.

  
Almost as soon as his first attacker was down, another took his place, until Bucky found himself having to operate almost entirely on instinct and habit; fists flying, well placed kicks, firing off rounds whenever possible, unable to even properly see what it was he was fighting. The smoke and flames were playing tricks with his eyes, the room seemingly stretching like taffy around him.

  
Bucky put a bullet in the face of whatever was closest to him, then took off running, needing to get away from the inferno, feeling dizzy and disoriented. 

“East, 300 meters, emergency stairwell,” he heard in his ear, “head up three floors _,_ cut through Bullitt Publishing. Sam’s en route to extract you.”

"Thanks. Coming in hot, Falcon, don't have a head count."

"Can I get a translation," he heard Sam saying on the comms, sounding confused, while Steve ordered, “English only, lose the Russian!”

Bucky ignored this, too busy clotheslining another of the shadowy figures, collapsing their windpipe with the cybernetic arm before rocketing through the door to the stairwell. There was less smoke here, but everything still looked off, distorted somehow. 

He swiped at his eyes as he ran up the stairs, head pounding, tearing the door to the third floor off the hinges upon finding it locked. 

"On three," he announced, scanning the area and making a beeline for the publishers. 

Bucky only made it halfway there before a second explosion rocked the building, and the floor was no longer beneath his feet. He had time to be grateful he was only a few floors up before he hit bottom, too disoriented to twist enough to be able to land on his feet. 

The world seemed to explode into light and color all around him, before going dark around the edges. The air had been knocked out of his lungs upon impact, and he'd managed to take the brunt of the landing on his left side, which was both good and bad. He was pretty sure he'd damaged the arm, but had managed to avoid cracking his head on anything as a result. 

Despite this, he couldn't seem to get his wits about him. Everything spun, and melted into itself, but in an almost amusing way, leaving him staring up at the hole he'd fallen through, entirely captivated. 

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment. It felt like he was still falling, so he opened them again, confused and in pain and entirely unsure of what was going on. There were voices in his ear, too many talking too fast for him to be able to focus, but one stood out, and he felt relief wash over him. 

"Anthony?"

His voice was weak, airy, and using it made his stomach lurch, but he felt a little better after vomiting. The voices were arguing over something as he tried and failed to sit up. 

"James!" It cut through the fog, made him smile. "J, get a read on him."

"I think I'm sick," Bucky murmured confusedly, his tongue thick in his mouth. 

"What's he saying?" Steve snapped, and Bucky grinned, giggled over the serious tone. 

He lost track again though, unable to untangle the voices and words being directed to him, or to each other, while at the same time his body decided to remind him of how awful he was feeling.

"M'cold," he said, chest heaving. "Where'd you go?"

"Okay, everybody else off this fucking frequency," he heard, and sighed. Tony was back, that was good. Tony fixed things. 

"My arm s'not working," Bucky complained.

"Oh yeah? I better take a look, then," Tony said. "We're coming to get you now. Anything else hurt?"

"Breathing," he said after thinking about it. "And I can't get up. M'stuck on something."

"Stay still, okay? Are you alone?"

Bucky wasn't sure why Tony was asking, but lifted his head and looked around. "I'm stuck on rebar," he told Tony, trying to be helpful. He confusedly reached out and touched the piece of rebar sticking through his side, wincing, pretty sure it didn’t belong there.

"Okay, just, hang tight, James," Tony said. 

"Hey," he murmured, remembering something, a wave of sadness washing over him. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Tony said, his voice breaking. "I'll see you soon, though."

"I think I'm dreaming," Bucky said, blinking slowly. "Things are melting."

"Uh, don't touch anything,” Tony suggested, followed by, “Falcon is almost there, and I’m right behind him. Keep talking to me so I know you’re okay.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes drifting closed again. There was something important, something he’d wanted to say, but Tony hadn’t been talking to him. He couldn’t remember why, exactly, just had that awful sense of absence hanging heavy in his chest, kept company by a need to apologize, make it better. 

“M’sorry, Anthony. So sorry. I was scared,” he babbled, remembering an elevator. The memories were slippery, though. “Never been in love before.”

“I know, James, me too, I love you to,” he heard, and smiled to himself, even as he grew distracted by movement above him.

“I think I’m dying,” he murmured, not quite able to make sense of what he was seeing. “An angel just showed up.”

“Got him,” Bucky heard, followed by, “he’s got a piece of rebar _through_ him here.”

Then, the angel was shining a light in his eyes, saying something, all of it muddled and confusing, so Bucky closed his eyes, let himself drift again. The next time he opened them, a red and gold man with shining eyes was there, adding to the noise and confusion.

Then, it was dark for a while.

  


\+ + +

Bucky was sure he resurfaced several times, usually to pain and confusion, and so he let himself head back the other direction, where it was dark, and warm, and he didn’t feel anything. 

He had no way of knowing how long he was out, but the next time he opened his eyes they stayed open, and he realized he was in the medical bay. He blinked up at the ceiling confused, still disoriented, not quite understanding what he was seeing.

“Clint?”

“Hey, he’s awake,” and yes, that really was Clint _above_ his bed, because a moment later he dropped down to the floor to stand beside Steve. “You had us worried, idiot.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, confused, caught off guard by the concerned expression on Steve’s face, but then spotted Tony, realized he was holding Tony’s hand, and that took precedence over everything else. “Hey.” 

Tony was smiling at him, which was very nice. “Hi there.”

“Sorry, hate to break this up,” Bruce interrupted, “let me have some room to work, then we’ll let visitors back in.”

Bucky didn’t want anyone to leave, least of all Tony, so after answering questions and being poked and prodded, he fell back asleep by way of protest. He didn’t dream, just sank into the darkness, his limbs heavy, his thoughts peaceful.

And when he opened his eyes, Tony was holding his hand again.

“You know, if you didn’t want to talk, you could have just said no,” Tony said softly, his smile sad. “This was a hell of a way to get out of it.”

“All I’ve wanted was to talk to you,” Bucky answered honestly, feeling confused.

Tony’s fingers tightened their grip on his own, thumb stroking the back of Bucky’s hand, as he looked away for a moment, his expression gloomy. “Sorry, bad joke. I know. I know you did. And I wouldn’t listen.”

“Can I have some water?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

Tony looked appropriately mortified, as if just remembering that Bucky had spent the better part of—well, he had no idea how long he’d been out of it. Tony jumped up and got the water like his life depended on it, while Bucky rubbed at his eyes, ran a hand over his face to feel where his beard growth was at, stared at the tubes coming out of his arms, took note of all the places on his body that hurt. 

When he returned, Tony went so far as to hold the glass for him, help him drink, and Bucky grew nervous. “I feel _awful_. I’m not dying, am I?”

Tony looked horrified, and Bucky had a split second to be legitimately worried before he started talking. “No! At least you better not be. Bruce found some fun neurotoxins in your system though, which is why you were hallucinating, and rambling in Russian. They were released during the explosions. No permanent damage there, by the way, so well done. The hole in your side is from a piece of rebar you decided to land on, and the arm is a bit worse for wear, so we’ll want to get you in the shop once the rest of you is in better shape.”

“Am I allowed in there?” he asked, feeling like a jerk when he saw the pain wash over Tony’s face. Now that he was starting to feel more awake, he couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under Tony’s eyes. He looked exhausted, and worried, and decidedly rumpled, had probably been hanging out in the med bay for however long Bucky had been stuck there. “Sorry, that…”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Clint’s right, I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.” He sat back down with a sigh, and Bucky reached for him, happy to have hold of Tony’s hand again. “And I _am_ sorry, by the way.”

“Me too. I should have told you as soon as I found out,” Bucky said, still slightly disbelieving he was finally getting to explain himself. “I kept chickening out. Thought you might call the whole thing off if you knew.”

“Believe me, I get that,” Tony said, shaking his head. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to call it off—not _us_ , just the plan. Specifically, the breaking up part. Then I’d convince myself that my feelings were probably one sided, and rinse and repeat.”

“We’re pretty stupid, huh?”

Tony grinned at this, met Bucky’s eyes. “Yup, pretty much. Just so you know, I meant it when I said I love you. That wasn’t just a ‘potentially last conversation with seriously injured ex’ thing.”

Bucky felt like his heart wanted to punch out of his chest. “Uh, I should probably admit now that I don’t _actually_ remember you saying that. Or much of anything after the second explosion.”

Tony looked decidedly uncomfortable, but got over it pretty quick, his brown eyes serious when he said it again. “Well then I’m telling you now. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bucky said, squeezing Tony’s fingers. He was sure he was grinning like an idiot, because his face hurt. “I wish you’d believed me the first time, but I get why you didn’t. Considering what we’d been talking about, and, uh… I know you were feeling vulnerable. Really bad timing.”

Tony’s expression darkened a bit. “You don’t need to make excuses for me. I overreacted, and used it as an excuse to have a meltdown. If I’d actually stopped to think it through…” he shook his head. “I was more interested in feeling sorry for myself, and trying to hurt you. I  _may_ have a few self-destructive tendencies I still need to work on.”

“You and me, both,” Bucky pointed out. “I should have trusted you more.”

“Not sure I gave you much reason to.” It was quiet for a moment, then Tony added, “Once I got my head out of the bottle long enough to look around again, it was pretty obvious you weren’t acting like someone who _won_. Then the more I thought about it, the more trouble I had figuring what the payoff would have been for you _,_ even if it was true. And seeing you again… It was obvious that you were hurting. Because of me.”

“You were hurting, too.” Bucky smiled sadly. “People haven’t exactly given you much reason to trust over the years.”

“Yeah, but you’re not people, you’re _James_ ,” Tony said. His mouth trembled a bit, his eyes bright when he added, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed talking to you. Missed _you_.”

“Me too.” Bucky smiled stupidly. “Hey, look at us, being all mature.”

Tony laughed at this, and it make Bucky’s heart lurch to see it and hear it again, to be part of it. “Right? Maybe we’re not so bad at this after all.”

“I think we did pretty good by each other,” Bucky agreed, “You know, for idiots who thought they were pretending.”

“Yeah, yeah we did.” Tony smiled shyly, looking down at their clasped hands for a moment. “So, what do you think? Want to try that date again?”

Tony looked hopeful, and somehow Bucky knew that even if he said, ‘not yet,’ Tony would wait around until he was ready, wasn’t giving up or running away this time. And this time, there would be no more pretending they were just performing for the cameras, or putting on a show for their friends. No more lying to themselves, or each other, about how they felt, or why they were doing what they were doing.

Bucky liked the sound of that very much.

“Okay,” he said, “but no playing with your phone this time.”

  


\+ + +

**Epilogue**

“Bullshit,” Tony yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen.

“I can, have, and will continue to make _way_ tougher shots than that,” Clint piped up.

“He was calling bullshit on her being able to outrun the mechanized dinosaur in those shoes,” Natasha pointed out.

“Sure, Nat could do it, but anyone else? Mechasaurus food, guaranteed,” Tony explained, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth this time. “Why are we watching this again?”

“It was Thor’s turn to pick,” Bucky reminded him quietly.

“That makes sense.” Tony handed Bucky the bowl of popcorn, began octopussing his way closer, arms and legs seemingly everywhere. “He doesn’t think this one is a documentary, does he? I felt really bad having to explain why we couldn’t go to _Jurassic Park_.”

Bucky just laughed, and hooked his arm around Tony, burying his nose in Tony’s hair, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes, and smiled, snorting with laughter when he felt one of Tony’s hands sliding beneath his shirt. He’d obviously decided it was time to move past snuggling, and straight on to not so covert groping.

Bucky sighed contentedly, and because he could, pulled Tony into a kiss that had way too much tongue for mixed company, earning them a popcorn shower and a cry of, “Some of us are single, assholes!” from Clint.

Tony smiled up at him, and Bucky helped himself to another kiss, just a small one, before settling back down to pretend to pay attention to the adventures of Mechasaurus while being groped by his boyfriend.

“I love movie night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it was worth the wait!! Also, best prompt ever, right? Be sure to thank http://hawkeyeinc.tumblr.com/ as well, if you enjoyed it.


End file.
